[ SYNOPSIS ] â When a careless comment triggers your eating disorder relapse, Megumi is left confused as to how to approach the situation until you leave him with no choice. w.c: 8k
[ PAIRING ] â bf!megumi fushiguro x ex-ballerina!reader
[ TAGS ] â fem!reader, non-sorcerer au, they are adults.
TW: eating disorder, body dysmorphia, food restrictions, guilt tripping (from reader), toxic ballet culture, angst w a happy ending, hurt/comfort, relapse and recovery, emotional confrontation, therapy is mentioned. art by: @/sa2men on twt.
[ A/N ] â THIS FIC IS A REQUEST! However, a similar idea has been sitting in my drafts for a very long time, I wrote it for myself first to help me with recovery, so I would like apologise to anon first if it doesn't match their request 100%. Thank you to however reads this, and for those that also struggle with their eating disorders, I want you to remember that you are worth more than your ed, it is difficult to navigate through life with it and I am very proud of those that continue to go on despite it. You matter and I love you.
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The lights were always too hot. Thatâs what you remembered most. Not the ache in your calves or the pinch of toe shoes, but the way the stage lights bore down on your shoulders like a judgment. You could feel them even before the curtain rose, a warmth that made your leotard feel two sizes too small.
You were the tallest in your class that year, which should have been an advantage. Long lines, your first instructor had said when you were six, pressing down on your shoulders to lengthen your neck. You have the bones for it. But somewhere between ten and eleven, your body had decided to curve in ways the other girls' hadn't yet. Your thighs thickened. Your hips spread just slightly, and suddenly your lines weren't so clean anymore.
"Again."
Madame Dupont's voice cut through the rehearsal studio like a blade. You were at the barre, sweat cooling on your neck, one hand resting on the wood that was slick from the last hour of work. The other girls had moved to their water bottles. You were supposed to join them.
You saw it in the mirror before you felt it, saw the slight wobble in your supporting ankle and the way your extended leg didn't quite reach the height the others achieved. Your hips tilted, compensating. Wrong. It was wrong.
"Enough." Madame Dupont didn't raise her voice. She never did. That was almost worse. "You see the problem, yes? The line breaks here." She pointed with her cane vaguely toward your thigh, toward your hip, and you felt your face flush hot. "It disrupts the whole silhouette. You are fighting your own body. A dancer cannot fight her body. A dancer's body is her instrument, and yours is⊠resistant."
You lowered your leg. The silence in the room was sticky, uncomfortable. You could feel the other girls not looking at you, which was somehow worse than if they'd stared.
"We will continue to work on this," Madame Dupont said, already turning away. "But you should consider whether the corps is perhaps a better fit for your physique. Skip dinner today; breakfast tomorrow too."
You nodded because that was what you did. You nodded and you didn't cry, not there, not until later in the bathroom stall with your hand pressed over your mouth so no one would hear.
The role was Giselle. The peasant girl who dies of a broken heart and becomes a spirit, all gossamer and grief. You wanted it so badly you could taste it, something metallic and desperate at the back of your throat.
You started skipping breakfast because it was the easiest meal to miss. Your mother left for work early, and she never checked the trash to see if you'd actually eaten the toast she laid out. Lunch was harderâthe school cafeteria had monitorsâbut you learned to push food around your plate, to take bites so small they barely counted, to wrap things in napkins, and to bury them at the bottom of your bag.
The weight came off slowly at first, then faster. Your thighs stopped touching at the very top when you stood with your feet together, and you would stare at that gap in the mirror like it was proof of something. Proof that you could do this. Proof that your body wasn't resistant after all, that you could mold it into whatever shape you needed it to be.
When the casting went up, you found your name at the top of the list. Giselle. You stared at it for so long that the letters started to blur and you had to blink hard to bring them back into focus. Your heart was pounding so fast you felt dizzy, but it was a good dizzy, a victorious dizzy.
You called your mother from the studio phone. She cried. You didn't.
The week before the performance, you stopped eating almost entirely. Just water, just black coffee, just the occasional apple cut into slices so thin you could see light through them. You were still hungryâyou were always hungryâbut hunger had started to feel like something else. Like discipline. Like control. Like the only thing standing between you and the corps, between you and Madame Dupont's dismissive cane waving at your unacceptable body.
Performance night. The theater was full. You could hear the murmur of the audience through the curtain, hundreds of people settling into velvet seats, program pages rustling. You stood in the wings in your white peasant dress, your heart hammering so hard you could feel it in your temples.
The first act went well. Your feet found their marks, and your arms traced the air the way you'd practiced a thousand times. The hunger was a hollow ache in your stomach, but you were floating above it, running on adrenaline and terror and the blinding heat of the lights.
And then, during your soloâthe famous mad scene, Giselle's heart breakingâsomething went wrong.
It started as a lightness in your head, a kind of fizzing at the edges of your vision. The stage tilted. You tried to compensate, tried to keep dancing, because that was what you did; that was what Madame Dupont had drilled into you: you danced through pain, through exhaustion, through anything. The show didn't stop.
But your body stopped.
You didn't feel yourself fall. You only heard the collective inhale from three hundred people, a sound like all the air being sucked out of the room at once. And then nothing.
You woke up backstage. Someone had put a cold cloth on your forehead. Your mother was there, which didn't make sense because she was supposed to be in the audience; she was supposed to be watching you be brilliant. Her face was pale, and her eyes were red, and before you could ask what happened, you heard Madame Dupont's voice from somewhere above you, clipped and cold.
"This is what I was afraid of. I knew she wouldn't be fit for the role."
You closed your eyes again. You wished you hadn't woken up at all.
You quit ballet that summer. You told your mother it was because you'd lost your passion for it, and she believed you because she wanted to. She'd been scared by the fainting, scared by the sharp lines of your collarbones that had started showing through your skin. She took you to a doctor, then a therapist, then a nutritionist. You learned words like "disordered eating," "restriction cycle," and "refeeding," and you hated all of them because they made your control sound like illness.
But you got better. Sort of. You stopped counting calories and started counting other thingsâsteps on your phone, laps in the pool, and miles on the treadmill. It wasn't the same, you told yourself. It was healthy. Everyone should exercise. Everyone should stay in shape. You ate three meals a day, reasonable portions, nothing extreme. You didn't weigh yourself more than once a month. You were fine. You were absolutely fine.
And then you met Megumi.
Megumi was quiet in a way that made you feel quiet, too, like his presence turned down the volume on the anxious voice that usually whispered in the back of your mind. He didn't talk much, but he listened, and he watched, and he noticed things. The first time he kissed you, his hand had come up to cup your jaw so gently that you'd almost cried. No one had ever touched you like that before, like you were something precious instead of something to be managed.
For two years, you were happy. Genuinely happy. You moved in together. You adopted a cat and rented until you could find an affordable apartment to buy; you lived in the same city as your friends, and work was close by. Life was great; it was supposed to be great. A life where food was just food, where your body was just your body, where the ghost of Madame Dupont's voice had faded to a whisper so faint you could almost forget it was there.
Almost.
Until one particular day, when Megumi left his phone unlocked on the kitchen counter while he was in the shower. You weren't snooping. You were looking for a takeout menu he'd mentioned saving, and his messages were right there, and you saw your name in a thread with one of his coworkers.
Megumi's girlfriend is sweet. She's a little bigger than I expected, though. I thought you only dated skinny girls lol
Your thumb had frozen over the screen. You read the message four times, each word burying itself into your chest like a splinter. The coworker who'd sent itâsome guy named Tanaka who you'd met exactly once at a work happy hour, who poured you a drink and chatted your ear off until Megumi had to take you awayâhad probably forgotten he'd even typed it. It was a throwaway comment, the kind of casual cruelty people deployed without thinking.
Megumi's response had been immediate and cold: Don't talk about her like that. What the fuck is wrong with you?
But you barely registered his defense. All you could see was a little bigger than I expected, and suddenly you were twelve years old again, standing at the barre, Madame Dupont's voice in your ear. Your body is resistant.
You closed the phone. You put it back on the counter exactly where you'd found it. When Megumi came out of the shower, hair damp and all over his face, you smiled, asked if he still wanted Thai food, and walked towards him to dry his hair properly.
You ordered a salad. No dressing.
It crept back in slowly, the way it always did. You started by cutting out snacks, the mindless eating that happened while you and Megumi watched movies on the couch. He'd offer you a handful of popcorn, the bowl balanced on his knee, and you'd shake your head. "Not hungry." He'd frown, just slightly, but he wouldn't push. That was the thing about Megumiâhe noticed, but he trusted you. He didn't know what to look for.
Then came the smaller portions. You'd cook dinner and serve yourself half of what you used to, pushing the rest around your plate until it looked like you'd eaten more than you had. You started skipping breakfast again, telling Megumi you'd grab something at work. You never did.
The hunger came back like an old friend. You'd missed it, in some twisted way you couldn't explain. The clarity it brought. The sense of control. Every time your stomach growled, it felt like one step closer to the finishing line.
Megumi started watching you more closely. You caught him tracking your plate with his eyes, noticing the way you cut your food into smaller and smaller pieces, the way you chewed each bite for too long. He didn't say anything, but his silences had always been louder than other people's words.
The dress was for Megumi's work gala, a formal thing at a hotel downtown that he'd been dreading for weeks. You'd offered to skip it, but he'd asked you to comeâactually asked, his hand finding yours across the dinner table, his dark eyes serious. "I don't want to go alone," he'd said, and that was as close to "I need you" as Megumi ever got.
So you went shopping. Alone, because you wanted it to be a surprise.
The boutique was one of those places that smelled like expensive perfume and judgment, the kind of store where the saleswomen looked you up and down before deciding whether to help you. This one was young, maybe twenty-two, with a sleek ponytail and a name tag that read KARIN.
"Can I help you find something?" she asked, her tone suggesting she'd already decided you were a waste of her time.
"I'm looking for a formal dress. Cocktail length, maybe. Black or dark blue."
She nodded and pulled a few options from the racks. Most of them were fine. Nothing special. And then she held up a dress that made your breath catchâdeep emerald green, silk, with a neckline that plunged just enough to be interesting and a skirt that would hit just below the knee. It was beautiful. It was exactly the kind of dress that would make Megumi's eyes go soft and startled the way they did when you surprised him.
"Can I try this one?"
Karin glanced at the tag, then at you. "We have it in a six. What size are you usually?"
"Eight, I think."
She looked at you again, longer this time. Her mouth pursed slightly at the corner. "This brand runs small. You might want to try the ten."
The ten. You felt heat crawl up the back of your neck. "I'd like to try the eight, please."
"Sure." Her shrug was almost imperceptible. "Just so you know, our return policy on formal wear is strict. If you rip a seam trying to force itâŠ"
She let the sentence hang. You took the dress from her hand.
In the fitting room, you pulled the dress off the hanger and stepped into it. It got stuck at your hips. You tugged, harder than you should have, and heard the awful sound of fabric straining. You tried the zipper. It wouldn't go past your ribs. You sucked in hard and pulled, and the zipper moved another inch before it jammed completely.
You looked at yourself in the mirror. The dress was half-on, bunched around your waist, the zipper gaping open over your back. The silk was creased from your efforts. Your face was flushed and your eyes were bright, which warned of tears. You looked exactly like you felt: like a failure.
You couldn't get the dress off fast enough. You practically tore it over your head, not caring about the seams, and shoved it back on the hanger. You pulled your own clothes on with shaking hands. When you pushed through the curtain, Karin was there, one eyebrow already raised.
"Not quite right," you managed, your voice tight. "I'll keep looking."
"Of course." She took the dress from you, and you didn't miss the way her eyes flicked down your body and back up. "Let me know if you want to try any of our extended sizes. We keep them in the back."
You left without buying anything. On the sidewalk outside, the sun was too bright and the air was too warm, and you couldn't breathe properly. You pulled out your phone and texted Megumi with fingers that still trembled.
Didn't find anything. The dress wasn't really my style anyway.
His response came quickly, because Megumi always responded quickly to you: We can look somewhere else this weekend.
It's fine, you typed back. I'll figure something out.
You stopped at the gym on your way home. You ran until your legs burned and your lungs ached and the voice in your head finally, mercifully, went quiet.
For the next two weeks, you ate less than you ever had, less than you had even during the ballet years. You started tracking again, not calories but something simpler: how long you could go between meals, how light you could make each plate, and how many times you could say I'm not hungry before Megumi stopped believing you, because now you had Megumi to worry about too.
He stopped believing you around day four.
"You didn't eat lunch," he said one evening, leaning against the kitchen counter while you washed dishes that didn't need washing. It wasn't a question.
"I had a big breakfast."
"You had black coffee."
You scrubbed harder at a plate that was already clean. "I wasn't hungry."
"You're never hungry anymore." His voice was level, controlled, but you could hear the worry underneath. You'd known him long enough to recognize the signsâthe slight tension in his jaw and the way his hands were shoved deep in his pockets like he was trying to keep them still. "What's going on?"
"Nothing's going on. God, Megumi, can't I just not be hungry sometimes?"
He didn't answer. When you turned around, he was still watching you, his dark eyes unreadable. But he didn't push. He never pushed, not then.
You wished to God he had.
The dress from the boutique haunted you. You dreamed about itâthe emerald silk, the way it had refused to close over your body, Karin's knowing look. You started visiting the boutique's website late at night when Megumi was asleep, scrolling through the product photos, reading the size chart over and over until the numbers blurred together.
And then, the light at the end of the tunnel. The scaleâthe one you'd bought in secret and hidden under the bathroom sinkâshowed a number you hadn't seen since you were seventeen. Your stomach was concave in the mornings. Your hip bones jutted out just slightly, a silhouette you'd almost forgotten you could achieve. You were tired all the time, and your head ached constantly, and you felt like you were made of glass, but the number on the scale kept dropping, and that was the only thing that mattered.
"The boutique got a new shipment," you told Megumi one morning, your voice carefully casual. "They have a dress I want to try. Can we go before dinner with Yuuji and Nobara?"
He looked at you for a long moment. "The place you went before?"
"Yeah."
"I thought you said the dresses there weren't your style."
"They got new things in. Please? It won't take long."
He agreed. You could tell he wanted to ask more, but you were already pulling on your coat, already moving toward the door, and he followed because he loved you. That was the problem. He loved you enough to trust you even when he shouldn't.
The boutique was the same. The same perfume-scented air, the same whisper of judgment. Karin was there, too, her ponytail as sleek as ever, and she recognized you immediately.
"Back again?" she asked, and there was something almost amused in her voice. "Looking for anything specific?"
"The green dress. The silk one. I want to try it again."
She retrieved it from the rack without comment. The same dress. The same size. Eight. You took it to the fitting room with your heart hammering so hard you could feel your pulse in your throat.
The dress slid over your hips like water. The zipper pulled up smoothly, without resistance. You stood in front of the mirror and stared at your reflection, at the way the emerald silk draped over your collarbones and skimmed your waist and fell to just below your knees. It fit. It fit perfectly. It fit better than perfectlyâthere was room to spare.
You pushed open the heavy, stepping out onto the showroom floor. Megumi was standing near the register, scrolling through his phone, looking deeply out of place among the tulle and chiffon. When he looked up and saw you, his expression went through a rapid series of micro-expressions you couldnât quite track. Surprise. Shock. And then, something else. Something dark and devastating that should have been happiness but wasnât.
Before he could even open his mouth to speak, Karin appeared at your elbow.
âOh, wow,â she said, and her voice was entirely different nowâwarm, enthusiastic, the sycophantic voice of someone who saw a fat commission check. âThat looks amazing on you. I told you this brand runs small, right? Youâve clearly been putting in the work since last time. Itâs really paid off.â
You preened. You couldnât help it. The validation from this stranger was like a drug. Youâd done it. Youâd proven her wrong. Youâd proven Tanaka wrong. Youâd proven Madame Dupont wrong.
You turned to Megumi, beaming, expecting to see the awe you felt. âWhat do you think?â
He was staring at you. But he wasnât looking at the beautiful dress. He was looking at you. He was looking at the bruised hollows under your cheekbones, the sharp, jutting angles of your shoulders, and the way your wrists looked so thin and fragile hanging out of the short sleeves. His face was pale, his jaw was clamped tight enough to crack his teeth, and his eyesâ
His eyes looked horrified.
"Can we talk outside?" he asked, his voice very quiet.
Your smile faltered. "What's wrong? Doesn't it look good?"
"We'll talk outside." He turned to Karin, and his expression was so cold that she actually took a step back. "We're not buying anything. Thank you."
He walked out. You had no choice but to change back into your own clothes and follow, your cheeks burning, confusion and anger already starting to curdle in your stomach.
He didn't say a word in the car. The silence was thick and suffocating, and you spent the whole drive working yourself up, building a case for yourself, preparing for the fight you could feel coming. By the time you got home, you were almost vibrating with defensive fury.
He threw his keys into the bowl. You whirled on him before he could even take off his jacket.
"What the hell was that?"
"You know what that was." His voice was still quiet, still controlled, but there was a tremor underneath it now. "How much weight have you lost?"
"I don't know. A few pounds. Why do you care?"
"A few pounds." He repeated the words like he couldn't believe you'd said them. "You've lost more than a few pounds. Your clothes don't fit anymore. You don't eat. You haven't eaten a real meal in front of me in weeks."
"I eat. I justâ"
"You just what? Push food around your plate? Tell me you're not hungry? Hide in the bathroom after meals?" He stepped closer, and you saw that his hands were shaking. Megumi's hands never shook. He was the calmest person you ever knew. "I'm not stupid. I've been watching this happen for weeks, and I didn't say anything because I thoughtâI don't fucking know what I thought. That you'd talk to me. That you'd trust me."
"This has nothing to do with trust. This is my body." You heard your voice rising, cracking, but you couldn't stop it. "I'm allowed to lose weight if I want to. I'm allowed to want to look good. You don't get to control what I do with my body."
"Control?" He looked like you'd slapped him. "You think this is about control? You're starving yourself. You're literally disappearing in front of me, and you think I'm trying to control you?"
"You're not happy for me! I finally fit into that dress, and you couldn't even pretend to be happy for me. You dragged me out of there like I'd done something wrong. You're supposed to support me. You're supposed to be on my side, and you're not! Some kind of boyfriend you are"
The words left your mouth and landed like a physical blow. Megumi's face went blank for a second, completely blank, and then something behind his eyes seemed to splinter.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he repeated, his voice dangerously low. "I'm a terrible boyfriend because I don't clap and cheer while you starve yourself into a dress size?"
"You don't get itâ"
"No, I don't get it!" His voice finally rose, cracking through the apartment like a whip. "I don't get how you can look at yourself and not see what I see. I don't get how you can think thisâ" he gestured disapprovingly towards your hips, the same Madame Dupont did"âis something to be proud of. And I sure as hell don't get how I'm the villain for being terrified that the person I love is killing herself right in front of me."
"I'm not killing myself! God, you're so dramatic! I lost some weight. People lose weight all the time. That just shows I have discipline. It means I set a goal and I reached it, and you can't stand that because it wasn't about you."
"About me?" He let out a laugh that had no humor in it, sharp and jagged. "You think any of this is about me? I don't care what size you are. I have never cared what size you are. I care that you're lying to me, hiding from me, flinching every time I touch you because you're afraid I'll feel your bones. I care that you can't eat a meal without looking like you're about to cry. But sure, I'm the terrible boyfriend. I'm the one who's wrong here."
"You are wrong! You're wrong to make me feel like thisâlike I'm crazy. I'm finally happy with how I look. I'm finally in control. And you want to take that away from me because it makes you uncomfortable."
"Because it's not control!" He was almost shouting now, his composure completely gone, his dark eyes blazing. "You're not controlling anything; all you're doing is punishing yourself for something that was never your fault, and you're so deep in it you can't even see it anymore. You think that saleswoman's compliment means something? She's a stranger. She doesn't give a shit about you. I'm the one who's been here, every day, watching you vanish. I'm the one who loves you. And you're calling me terrible?"
You opened your mouth to fire back, to say something cruel and cutting that would make him hurt the way you were hurting, but before you could, your phone's ringtone echoed over the room.
Nobara's contact photo lit up the screen, her grinning face an absurd contrast to the anger crackling in the room. You grabbed the phone with shaking hands.
"Where are you guys?" Nobara's voice was full with impatience. "Yuuji's been waiting for like twenty minutes, and the waitress keeps giving us dirty looks."
You couldn't speak for a moment. Your throat was too tight. Megumi was still standing across from you, his chest heaving, his hands clenched into fists at his sides so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
"We're on our way," you managed, and hung up before she could ask questions.
The silence that followed was heavy enough to crush you. Megumi stared at you for a long, awful moment. His anger hadn't cooledâif anything, it had settled into something more brittle. Something that looked like hurt dressed up as fury.
"We're going to this dinner," he said, his voice flat and cold in a way you'd never heard directed at you before. "And when we get home, you are going to tell me exactly what's going on."
He grabbed his jacket from the hook by the door. He didn't even look at you.
"Fine," you bit out, even though nothing about this was fine. Nothing had been fine for weeks, and you were both too angry and too scared to admit it.
The restaurant was one of those cozy ramen shops that Yuuji had discovered and then insisted everyone try, the kind of place with steam-fogged windows and the smell of pork broth so rich it made your head swim the moment you walked in. Your stomach cramped at the smellâhunger, always hungerâand you pressed your hand against your abdomen like you could quiet it through sheer force of will.
Yuuji and Nobara were already at a booth near the back, Yuuji's pink hair sticking up in its usual disarray. He had already ordered an array of appetizers, little plates spread across the table like a buffet, and his face lit up when he spotted the two of you walking toward him.
"Finally!" He was already scooting over to make room, patting the booth seat enthusiastically. "I was starting to think you guys got abducted by aliens or something. Sit, sitâI ordered like half the menu; we're gonna feast."
You slid into the booth across from him and Nobara. Megumi sat beside you, close enough that his shoulder could have brushed yours, but he kept careful distance. The cold fury from the apartment still radiated off him in waves you could almost feel, and you were still simmering with your own anger, your own hurt. Neither of you had spoken in the car. Neither of you looked at each other now.
Nobara, sharp-eyed as ever, clocked the tension immediately. She looked from your tight expression to Megumi's rigid jaw, and something flickered across her faceârecognition, maybe, or concernâbut she didn't say anything. She just took a pointed sip of her drink and let her gaze slide over to Yuuji, who was blessedly, mercifully oblivious.
"So," Yuuji said, pushing a plate of gyoza toward the center of the table, "I've been thinking about this all day. The pork ramen here is supposed to be life-changing. Like, actually life-changing. The guy who owns this place trained in Sapporo for like twenty years. I'm gonna get the big bowl. Who's with me?"
"I'll stick with the miso," Nobara said.
"Lame. What about you?" He looked at you, eyes bright with expectation. "You always get the good stuff. Remember that time we split the tonkotsu at that place in Shinjuku and you ate like three quarters of it? I was so impressed."
The memory hit you like a punch to the chest. That had been over a year ago, before the message on Megumi's phone, before Karin and the emerald dress, before the hunger had crawled back into your bones and made a home there. You'd laughed that night, laughed so hard you'd snorted broth out your nose, and Yuuji had nearly fallen off his chair, and Megumi had watched you both with that quiet, soft expression he got when he was looking at his favourite people.
Now you couldn't even look at the menu without your stomach twisting into knots.
"I'm not super hungry," you said, your voice too bright, too brittle. "I'll probably just get a salad or something."
"A salad?" Yuuji looked personally offended. "At a ramen place? That's like going to a sushi restaurant and ordering chicken nuggets. Come on, at least get the small bowl. We can share!"
He was already pushing a menu toward you, grinning, and the gesture was so warm, so Yuuji, so completely unaware of the landmine he was stepping onâand still the panic rose in your chest. The thought of a full bowl of ramen, rich and heavy and swimming with oil, of putting that much food into your body, of undoing weeks of work in a single mealâ
"I said I'm not hungry." The words came out sharper than you intended, an edge of warning.
Yuuji blinked, his grin faltering just slightly. "Okay, okay, no pressure. But if you change your mind, you can totally steal some of mine. I always order too much anyway." He nudged the plate of gyoza closer to you. "At least have one of these while we wait. They're the garlic kind you like."
It was such a small thing. Such an innocent, generous thing. A friend offering to share his food, the way he'd done a hundred times before, the way you'd always accepted before. But now the sight of the gyozaâgolden and glistening with oilâmade your stomach heave with a mixture of hunger and revulsion and fear so intense it felt like drowning.
"I don't want one," you said, your voice tight.
"Are you sure? They're really goodâ"
"I said I don't want one, Yuuji!" Your voice cracked across the table like a slap. "Why can't you just leave me alone? Why does everyone keep trying to force food on me like I can't make my own decisions?"
The silence that followed was deafening. The couple at the next table turned to look. Nobara's drink paused halfway to her lips. And Yuujiâsweet, kind, wonderful Yuuji, who had never done anything but try to make you smileâlooked at you with an expression of such genuine, wounded confusion that you felt something inside you shatter.
"I was justâŠ" He trailed off, his hand still hovering near the gyoza plate, his brow furrowed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to push. I just thought⊠you always liked sharing food with me beforeâŠ"
The hurt in his voice was unbearable. You couldn't sit there another second. You couldn't look at his face or Nobara's sharp eyes or the plate of gyoza that was still steaming innocently between you. You shoved yourself out of the booth so fast you nearly tripped, your hip catching the edge of the table and rattling the glasses.
"Bathroom," you choked out, and fled.
The bathroom was small and brightly lit and smelled like cheap floral air freshener. You locked yourself in the stall and pressed your back against the door and slid down until you were sitting on the floor, your knees pulled up to your chest, your hands pressed so hard against your mouth you could feel your teeth through your lips.
What had you done? What had you done?
Yuuji's face kept replaying in your mindâthe way his smile had crumbled, the way he'd apologized even though he hadn't done anything wrong, the way his hand had hovered there, frozen, still trying to give you something you'd thrown back in his face. He was the kindest person you'd ever met. He was Megumi's best friend. He was your friend. And you'd just humiliated him in the middle of a restaurant for offering you a dumpling.
Your breathing was coming in ragged, shallow gasps now, your vision blurring at the edges. You were ruining everything. You were ruining your relationship, ruining your friendships, and ruining yourself. You couldn't eat, and you couldn't not eat, and either way, you were failing. Either way, you were too much and not enough at the same time.
You didn't know how long you sat there. Time had gone strange. But at some point, you became aware of voices outsideânot in the bathroom, but somewhere nearby, muffled through the wall. One of them was Megumi's.
"âŠdidn't do anything wrong. She's going through something. It's not about you." His voice was low and steady, but there was a protective edge to it, a warning.
Yuuji's voice, still sounding small and confused: "I know, I just⊠is she okay? What did I say? I don't know what I said, I didn't mean to upset her."
"It's really nothing to do with you,". Megumi's tone softened, just slightly. "You didn't do anything wrong, Yuuji. I mean it. I'll go check on her. Just⊠give us a minute."
You heard footsteps. Then a knock on the bathroom door, firm and familiar.
"It's me." Megumi's voice, closer now, right outside. "Open the door."
"Go away." Your voice came out raw and scraped, barely recognizable.
"You know I'm not going to do that."
You pressed your forehead against your knees. You could feel the cold from the tile seeping through your jeans. You didn't answer.
A pause. Then, quieter: "Yuuji's not upset with you. He's worried. Nobara too. They're not mad. They just want to know you're okay."
"They should be mad. I yelled at him for no reason. I'm a terrible person."
"You're not a terrible person. You're going through shit, they understand." The door creaked slightly, like he was leaning against it. "Do you want to leave?"
The question was so soft, so careful, that it cut through the spiral of panic in your head. You lifted your head from your knees. The fluorescent light was too bright, making spots dance in your vision.
"Yes," you whispered.
"Okay. I'll talk to them. Meet me outside in five minutes. Can you do that?"
You nodded, even though he couldn't see you. "Yeah."
"Okay." His voice gentled even further, the anger from earlier completely absent now, replaced by tenderness wrapped in exhaustion. "Five minutes. I'll be waiting."
You heard him push away from the door. You heard his footsteps retreat.
You sat there for another minute, maybe two, until your breathing evened out and your hands stopped shaking enough that you could unlock the stall. You splashed cold water on your face. You looked at yourself in the mirrorâreally lookedâand for the first time in weeks, you saw what Megumi saw. The hollow cheeks. The sharp collarbones. The way your eyes seemed too big for your face, too bright, too hungry.
You looked like you did back then, standing in the wings, about to faint on stage.
You looked like you needed help.
Megumi was waiting outside, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets and his face tilted up toward the dark sky. The night air was cool, a welcome relief against your flushed skin. He didn't say anything when you appeared. He just pushed off the wall and started walking toward the car, and you followed him, and the silence between you was different now. Heavier. More honest.
He drove. You didn't ask where you were going. You didn't care. You watched the streetlights pass and tried to find the words for what you needed to say. The fight replayed in your head on a loopâthe things you'd thrown at him, the accusations, the way he'd finally broken and yelled back. And then the dinner. Yuuji's face.
"Megumi."
"Yeah."
"I'm sorry." Your voice was small, raw. "What I said back at the apartmentâimplying you are a terrible boyfriendâI didn't mean it. I was angry. I was defensive. But I shouldn't have said it. And what I did to Yuuji⊠God, Megumi, I yelled at him for trying to share his food with me. What is wrong with me?"
He didn't look at you, but his jaw tightened. "You really think I want to control you?"
"No. I know you don't. I just⊠I couldn't see past myself. I couldn't see what I was doing to you. To us. To everyone." Your voice cracked, and you had to pause and swallow hard. "I'm sorry I made you feel like you were the problem. You're not. You've never been the problem."
He exhaled slowly, a long breath that seemed to carry some of the tension out of his shoulders. "I shouldn't have yelled at you either. I just⊠I've been so scared. For weeks, I've been watching this happen and feeling completely helpless, and today, seeing you in that dress, seeing how happy you were about something that's hurting you so badly⊠I didn't know what to do with that. I handled it wrong."
"We both did."
Silence again. But it was softer now, less jagged. He pulled the car over to the side of the road, a quiet residential street lined with dark houses and sleeping trees. He killed the engine and turned to face you, and in the dim light from the streetlamp, you could see the exhaustion in his face, the shadows under his eyes, the redness around them.
"Talk to me," he said. "Please. What's going on?"
So you told him.
You told him everything. The ballet. Madame Dupont. The fainting. The way the audience's gasp had echoed in your dreams for years afterward. The slow, painful process of trying to fix your relationship with food, and how fragile that fix had always been, how it had only ever been held together with discipline and denial and the refusal to look too closely at your own thoughts.
You told him about the message on his phone. A little bigger than I expected. You told him about Karin, about the dress, about the way her look had gutted you. You told him about the scale hidden under the bathroom sink and the hunger that felt like an achievement and the way you'd convinced yourself that disappearing was the only way to be worthy of him. You told him about the voice that lived in the back of your head, the one that sounded like Madame Dupont, the one that whispered not good enough, never good enough, resistant, too much, take up less space, be less, be less.
By the time you finished, you were crying. Ugly, messy sobs that made your chest heave and your nose run. Megumi had pulled the car over fully, and now he was just sitting there, his face pale and stricken.
"I didn't know," he said, his voice hoarse. "I knew something was wrong. The message on my phoneâI could never tell you about it, I didn't want to upset you, so I just deleted it and moved on, and all this time you knew."
"It wasn't your fault. It wasn't about you. It's this⊠thing in my head. It never really went away. I just got better at ignoring it, and then I couldn't anymore."
"I don't know how to stop. I don't know how to eat like a normal person. Every time I try, it all comes back, and I can'tâI can't do it alone, Megumi. I've been trying to do it alone and I can't."
"Tell me what you need. Tell me what to do."
"I don't know what I need."
"Okay. Then we'll figure it out together." His hand catching yours in a warm grasp, "I'm not going anywhere. I don't care how long this takes. I don't care how hard it is. I love you. Not some version of you that fits into a dress or some version of you that doesn't eat. You. All of you. The one who watches bad reality TV and steals the blankets and makes fun of me for using too much conditioner. The one who shared tonkotsu with Yuuji and laughed so hard broth came out her nose. That's who I want. That's who I've always wanted."
You were crying again, harder now, but it felt different. More like relief than heartache.
"I'm scared," you whispered.
"I know." He pulled you against his chest, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other wrapped around your waist. "But we can find a professional if you want; we can look. If you don't, I'll look for how I can help from here. Whatever needs to be done, we will do it. I just want you to know that I love you no matter what, it doesn't matter how much you eat or even less. I could not care about it, I just want you to be safe, and healthy and actually live for yourself, that's all I ever wanted."
You stayed like that for a long time, wrapped around each other in the front seat of his car while the streetlights flickered overhead. You could feel his heartbeat against your cheek, steady and solid and real. You could feel his hands on your back, gentle but grounding, like he was afraid you'd disappear if he let go.
When you finally pulled back, your face was a mess and your head ached and you were so tired you could barely keep your eyes open. But something in your chest felt lighter. Something that had been wound tight for years and years had loosened, just a little.
"Megumi?"
"Yeah?"
"Can we go home?"
He kissed your forehead, soft and lingering. "Yeah. Let's go home."
He made you food when you got back to the apartment. Nothing complicatedârice and steamed vegetables and a piece of salmon he'd been saving for tomorrow. He put the plate in front of you and sat down across the table and waited.
You stared at the food. Your stomach clenched. Every instinct you'd been feeding for the past month screamed at you to push it away, to make an excuse, to retreat.
Megumi reached across the table and took your hand. His fingers were warm and steady.
"Just one bite," he said. "That's it. Just one. You need to start slow since your stomach most likely shrunk.
You picked up your fork. Your hand was shaking, but his hand was steady, and when you lifted the first bite to your mouth, he squeezed your fingers.
"Good," he said, his voice soft and certain. "That's good. You're doing so well. Keep going."
You took another bite. And another. The food felt heavy in your stomach, foreign, but Megumi didn't let go of your hand the whole time. He kept murmuring quiet encouragements, little things like I'm proud of you, and just one more bite, and you're so strong, you have no idea how strong you are. And when you finally put down your fork with half the plate still uneaten, he didn't push. He just brought your hand to his lips and kissed your knuckles.
"I'm proud of you," he said again.
And for the first time in a very very long time, you believed it.
Later, curled against his chest in bed, the cat purring at the foot of the duvet, you felt his hand trace gentle patterns on your shoulder blade.
"We'll call someone tomorrow," he said quietly. "A therapist. Someone who knows how to help with this. I'll go with you if you want. I'll wait in the lobby. Whatever you need."
You didn't answer. You weren't sure you could. The words were there somewhere, tangled up behind the exhaustion, but before you could force them out, Megumi was already moving.
He shifted onto his side and pulled you with him, settling you against his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world. One arm slid beneath your head, the other wrapped around your waist and tugged you in until there was no space left between you. He tucked his face into the crook of your neck and stayed there, his breath slow and even against your skin.
"I mean it," he said, quieter now. "Whatever you need."
A kiss, pressed just below your ear. Then another, softer, at the curve of your jaw. His hand moved up your back in a slow line, palm warm through the thin fabric of your shirt.
"You don't have to say anything right now," he murmured. "Just⊠stay here. Let me hold you. Okay?"
You managed a small nod, your throat too tight for words. He felt it. His arms tightened around you in response, solid and steady.
"I'm not going anywhere," he said. "Thisâusâit's not conditional. It never was. You don't have to be fine for me to love you."
You turned your face into his chest, and he let you. His hand came up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair. He didn't shush you. He didn't fill the silence with empty comfort. He just held you, anchored you, while your breathing slowly steadied against his heartbeat.
After a long moment, his lips found your forehead. The kiss was unhurried, deliberate, like he had nowhere else to be.
"You ate tonight," he said quietly. "It was a start. That's all that matters, and I am really happy you did."
He shifted, pulling the duvet up around your shoulders and tucking it in with one hand while the other kept you pressed firmly against him. His leg hooked over yours under the covers, tangling you together in a way that felt less like restraint and more like a promise.
"Get some sleep," he said. "I've got you."
You felt his hand resume its slow pattern on your back, tracing absent shapes through the fabric of your shirt. His chin rested against the top of your head. His heartbeat was steady beneath your ear.
"I love you," he said. Simple. Certain. Not a reassurance he was waiting to have validated, just a fact he needed you to know.
You closed your eyes, and let yourself get lulled to sleep by the sound of his heartbeat.
important reminder that most people you follow online are significantly lamer than you think they are including me. and if you feel insecure comparing yourself to someone online: DON'T. theyre probably also lame and weird. most people on the internet are
Hi! Is it okay if I ask for another homicipher fic? I just got all the endings, and I'm obsessed. What about Scarletta trying to be physically affectionate with MC after seeing how protective Mr. Crawling is with them (perhaps even secretly peeking/knowing how often the crawling man hugged you, you two petting or shaking each other's heads, and using the word "cute" on each other.) I need Scarletta jealous đ«Ł
â± Blood-stained Lips â° || Mr. Scarletella X Reader
ââââââââââââââââź
Character(s): Mr. Scarletella (Homicipher/æććć)
Reader Type: Human (Gender-Neutral Pronouns)
Warning(s): Spoilers for Homicipher (MCâs Lore and Specifically Scarletella Rain Ending), Canon-typical Mentions of Violence (and Horror Elements), Mild Jealousy, Slightly Suggestive. Anything spoken in the other worldâs language will be bolded.
Genre: Drabble, Light Angst (Hurt/Comfort), Pre-established Romantic Relationship (Itâs Complicated, honestly).
Word Count: ~2,140 words
Request: âHi! Is it okay if I ask for another homicipher fic? I just got all the endings, and I'm obsessed. What about Scarletta trying to be physically affectionate with MC after seeing how protective Mr. Crawling is with them (perhaps even secretly peeking/knowing how often the crawling man hugged you, you two petting or shaking each other's heads, and using the word "cute" on each other.) I need Scarletta jealous đ«Łâ
Authorâs Note: Okay so, like⊠Mr. Scarletella is probably one of the more nerve-wracking characters for me to write for, but I absolutely adored this ask, so I gave writing him in drabble format a shot! (Itâs also pretty funny how the fandom has unanimously agreed that Mr. Crawling and Mr. Scarletella would not get along and would be actively antagonistic toward each other lmao). I think his dynamic with the MC is fascinating⊠the whole parasocial relationship the two of them have going on throughout the game is such a unique choice (love the simp energy he gives off, too, since I wasnât expecting that from his character haha). This ended up being kind of suggestive at the end?? Nothing too crazy or anything, just him being very happy about being able to touch you. Anyway, I hope this isnât too OOC â enjoy!Â
â If you enjoyed my work, please reblog it if you can! Exposure on Tumblr is based on reblogging content rather than liking it, so your support would be much appreciated! âĄ
â°âââââââââââââââŻ
Even though his memories had been forgotten, parts of himself and his identity erased after you successfully defeated him, Mr. Scarletella occasionally found himself thinking of moments he couldnât even recall witnessing.Â
In his mind, he sees you with another resident of the realm, their long black hair cascading down their form while their laugh echoes through an empty corridor. He sees their fingers threading through your hair, moving their hands up and down along your scalp, and tousling your locksâŠÂ
Mr. Scarletella hears your laughter fill the space, too. The sound is light and airy, and he finds his chest tightening at the hazy memory. Itâs an uncomfortable feeling and certainly was not one he enjoyed experiencing. It almost felt like knives being shoved repeatedly into his torso, a stinging and aching sensation that spread throughout his entire body from a singular point.
Almost absentmindedly, his hand comes to rest on the left side of his chest, the side where a heart would be located if he possessed one like you did. Mr. Scarletella hears a gentle murmur interrupt his thoughts, a noise that cuts through the fog in his mind like a saw slicing through flesh and sinew.Â
âYou okay?â Your voice echoes, and his pitch-black eyes dart down to meet with yours. Youâre holding a red umbrella â his very heart and soul â in your hands. Your hold isnât painful, nor is it gentle. It was perfect, just like you, he thought to himself.Â
Rain drips down the water-resistant material of the umbrella that was permanently stained a bright, bloody red, and it falls onto the clear rubber of your raincoat before sliding down your form. Both the umbrella and your coat effectively keep your body dry from the elements. Mr. Scarletella, on the other hand, was completely soaked, having no issue walking beside you while the rain clung to his clothing and chilled his skin. Â
If he concentrated hard enough, he could feel the heat of your body spreading throughout his chest and warming his form from the inside out. Oh, how happy he would be if the small flame within him sparked into something more, forming a fiery inferno inside his body. Even if you were to burn him, set an uncontrollable blaze within him that only left an empty husk behind, he would be content. Â
Your brows are furrowed while you crane your neck back to look at him, the sound of rain around the two of you, effectively breaking up the long stretch of silence. He was acting a bit strange today, you thought to yourself. While the man dressed in red was never really normal in the conventional sense, he was much more quiet today than usual.Â
Mr. Scarletellaâs gaze used to be immensely nervewracking, his hollow stare once being able to cause the hair on the back of your neck to stand on edge, but you had grown used to it after spending so much time together. The two of you were in your old realm, the one you left behind to stay in the other world. You were fairly close to the haunted apartments he used to call his home and the site where you would dump the bodies of anyone unfortunate to cross your path⊠The start of everything that led you to where you are now.Â
âYou quiet⊠What you thinking about?â You ask him, shifting the hold of the umbrella in your hand to the other. You hadnât brought your weapon today, wanting to give Mr. Scarletella a chance to experience a âtypicalâ date, one that didnât consist of violence and murder for a change. However, he had been in a daze since the two of you arrived, and that was somewhat out of character for him.Â
Shifting your stance to better face him, your feet sink slightly into the mud beneath you. You look down at your boot-clad feet and frown. While you had grown used to being in a constant state of uncleanliness since the other world didnât have showers readily or easily available, it was still quite annoying to clean mud from the soles of your shoes. This was the type of mud that threatened to pull your shoe from your foot if you were to try tugging on it, but you pushed your frustration to the side to focus on the man in front of you.Â
Mr. Scarletella hums and reaches his hand out to your head, placing his palm against your hair, and you freeze. Your hair sticks to his deathly cold hand, almost as if static electricity was coursing through his fingers.Â
It was soft under his skin, your hair, yet he could feel that some knots had begun to form near the base of the strands. Then, he begins to rub his hand back and forth, effectively messing your hair up even more. Your mind blanks at his sudden movement, the action reminding you of Mr. Crawling.
âWhy⊠you touch me?â You ask, staring up at him as the rain begins to fall even harder, your grip on the umbrella in your hand tightening around the handle. The rain was so heavy that you could barely see into the distance, the horizon completely covered in a thick, gray mist. A sudden gust of wind blew Mr. Scarletellaâs red hair, and within his usually hollow eyes swirled something you had never seen within them before.Â
It reminded you of a storm rolling in across the ocean waves, a variety of emotions spiraling within his ashen irises. His hand never once leaves your body, instead sliding down the side of your head to cup your cheek in his palm. Whenever he touched you, it felt like TV static against your flesh, and you could see white-and-black dots begin to dance across your vision as a light hum filled your ears.Â
Mr. Scarletellaâs flesh is cold, and it reminds you of a corpse the chill his touch leaves in its wake. His head tilts to one side and he whispers to you, his voice barely audible above the rain crashing around you, âI want you â want to touch you.âÂ
Before you can even speak or formulate a response to his words, he quickly pulls his hand away from your skin. It felt like you had burnt him, yet he found himself not minding the stinging sensation that danced across his flesh. His hand dropped lifelessly to his side before he muttered an apologetic, âSorry. Shouldnât have touched you.â
After taking a moment to gather your thoughts, you shake your head and tell him, â...You okay,â before turning on your heel to walk away. You glance at him over your shoulder, his form becoming further soaked from the storm. It was kind of amusing, you thought, seeing such a previously powerful entity look like a stray, sopping-wet cat.Â
Eventually, you gesture for him to come with one hand, the order of, âFollow me.â coming out of your lips, loud enough for him to hear.
He teleports to you before you can even finish your sentence, staring down at you with those unnerving eyes of his as he waits to see where you want to go. A huff of air forces its way out of your nose, chuckling at his obedience before you lightly graze his hand with your nails. Itâs strange touching him, his form more like an illusion than a body made of flesh and blood.Â
The two of you make your way across the waterlogged fields and flooded, muddy roads. Your footsteps splash in the puddles beneath you as you walk while Mr. Scarletella moves without making a single noise, merely a ghost in this world. Soon, however, the abandoned apartments come into view, and you lead him inside the old concrete structure.Â
You pause as soon as your feet make contact with the cracked floor of the building, making sure that you canât hear the sound of another living being within the hollow corridors. You close the umbrella when nothing catches your attention, making sure to shake it a few times to try and remove the raindrops that have accumulated on its surface. You watch as the water falls to the ground, making small, dark grey circles on the concrete.Â
Looking over your shoulder, you watch as Mr. Scarletella watches you in return while holding the umbrella, waiting patiently for you to say something as a shiver runs down his spine. His hands that were hanging at his sides were closed, and he was clenching and unclenching his fingers almost like he was fighting the urge to place his palms against your skin once more. Â
You canât help but chuckle at his demeanor, placing the now-closed umbrella down so it was leaning against the wall. You do the same, leaning back on the wall before you hold your arms out to him, saying with a small smirk, âYou can touch me.â
You jumped slightly at the speed at which he appeared in front of you. His body hunched over yours while he watched your expression intently, his black eyes partially hidden behind the thick curtain of red hair that cast shadows across his sickly complexion. Mr. Scarletella places his palm on your head, telling you smoothly, âThank you.â
One of his hands begins to tentatively pat your skull while he enjoys the feeling of your hair against his palm. Then, his other hand soon joins, and you close your eyes while you allow him to pat you like a dog. It felt a bit demeaning in a way, but also strangely comforting, and it reminded you of one of the friendliest residents of the other world you had met.Â
Your eyes flutter shut almost out of habit, allowing the man in front of you to enjoy the rare moment with you. His hands started out resting against the top and sides of your head, the movement of palms against your hair causing it to become messy and sticking up because of the static he created.Â
Then, they tentatively travel to your face, cupping your cheeks before he brushes his thumbs underneath your eyes. You jolt a bit when his cold hand brushes against your neck, swallowing harshly when you feel him trace a finger down your SCM. Your breathing hitches while he explores your skin, and your teeth dig harshly into your bottom lip in response.Â
Then, you feel his touch pause, and Mr. Scarletella whispers against your neck, the pad of his thumb swiping against your lips, â...blood.âÂ
âOh, uhâŠâ You open your eyes and look at him, seeing the way heâs staring up at you while his face remains close to your jugular. Your hand goes up to your lips, and you wince when you feel the soreness. When you pull your fingers away from your mouth, you see the blood that clings to them. Geez, you didnât think you had bit your lip that hard.Â
You tell Mr. Scarletella, patting his head much like how he had been doing with you, âIâm okay. Donât stop.â
He smiles widely and lights up at your words. Suddenly, he grabs your face and hastily presses his lips to yours. Your eyes grow at the sudden act, and a strangled noise leaves your throat. It wasnât a bad noise, per se, you just hadnât been expecting that from him. Typically, he waited until you permitted him to do that... He must have been too excited to hold back this time around.
You were speechless when he pulled away from you, noticing your blood that was now smeared across his lips. He licks it away, his tongue peeking out from behind his lips before he asks you, â...You happy?â
You canât help but laugh at his question, reaching up to place your hand on his head while your giggles echo throughout the empty hallways, patting him softly. Mr. Scarletellaâs smile falters while he focuses on the feeling of your touch, on burning the memory of your expression and the sweet sound of your laughter into his mind. It made him feel strange knowing he was the one making you react in such a way, but it was good.
He wanted to do it more.Â
âYes, I happy. You cute.â You reply, smiling warmly at him while he stares at you like youâre the most beautiful thing in the world.Â
âI like you.â He says, sounding almost breathless as his body hunches over more, his face nuzzling into the crook of your neck while his hands explore the rest of your body, stroking and touching and petting you. Mr. Scarletella didnât want this moment to end.Â
You chuckle as his breath fans against your skin, telling him gently as you feel his fingers work out any knots in your hair, âI know.âÂ
âI like you, I like you, I like youâŠâ He murmurs against your flesh, âI love you.â
boyfriend!megumi and his overwhelmingly cute, bubbly girlfriend.
đŠč sfw! you and megumi have very different personalities but that never stopped you two from hitting it off :: including college megumi
you and megumi have complete, polar opposite personalities. where heâs quiet, stoic, and constantly looks like heâd rather be anywhere else than surrounded by people.. you're all smiles and excited waves, always talking about whateverâs on your mind, whether anyone asked or not. you make friends everywhere you go, somehow finding something to love in every person you meet.
megumi is not exactly what people would call approachable, which is why nobody understands how you two ended up together.Â
not that you care.Â
âgumii!â the moment you spot him across the courtyard, your face lights up.
megumi barely has time to register before youâre wrapping your arms around his waist âhi love.â you murmur against his chest.
a few students stare, but you ignore them as usual.
megumi sighs, though thereâs no actual annoyance behind it. his hand moves to your back automatically. âhey.â
you grin at him âdid ya miss me?â
âyou saw me this morning. we woke up together.â
âso thatâs a yes!âÂ
ânoo.. thatâs not what i said.âÂ
âsure, megumi.â the faint pink dusting his ears tells you all you need to know.Â
most people only see the cold side of megumi. they donât see the side of him that walks on the closest side of the road, the side of him that lends you his jacket when you complain about being cold just once, or the side of him that takes care of you on nights when your happiness fades into tears.
they donât see how he stays up with you in the cold hours of night just to hold you together piece by piece.Â
 because that side of him is reserved to you only.Â
his hand slides down to squeeze yours once. âyou done causing a scene?â
ânever ever.â
for a moment, the corner of his mouth lifts. âi figured.âÂ
âbut you love me so much anyway.. right?!â
âehh..â he jokes.
âbaby!â you swat his chest softly.Â
âi was just kidding.â he squeezes your hand once more and leads you through the courtyard, walking home with you.
you hum softly before suddenly gasping, stopping in your tracks. âoh my goodness!â
megumiâs eyes immediately blow with concern. âwhat?â
âi forgot to tell you.â
âtell me what?â
you grab both of his hands, bouncing slightly on your feet. âweâre pregnant!âÂ
âhuh? you serious?â
âno! LOL! a new sushi place just opened near our apartment!âÂ
megumi blinks a couple of times before shaking his head. âwho says lol outside of texting?â
âyour girlfriend, duh.â you say it like itâs the most obvious thing ever, because it is.. â but thatâs besides the point! new sushi, babe!âÂ
megumi guides you across the street as you ramble on about this new place. two fingers subtly pushing against your lower back, nodding respectfully to the other passersby.Â
âslow down, bunny. did you even look at the reviews?â he asks, palm now flat against your back as you continue walking and talking.Â
ânoooo, but thatâs the point in trying new things! donât you get it?â
he stays quiet for a moment and thinks â.. not really.â
âugh, boooriing.â you tease, eyes rolling before settling on his face. âgummy, we should go tonight.â
âtonight?â
âyes! date night!â you squeak.
âwe had a date night three days ago, i have to study for course exams.â
âokay so do i, but like.. live a little.â you say dramatically, squeezing his hand tighter.
but he already knows where this is going, because your determined look says youâre not taking no for an answer.
âplease?â you say, giving him your best puppy eyes.
âno.âÂ
âplease.â
ânope.âÂ
thatâs not his answer, he never says no.
âpleeeeease?â
âyouâre being annoying.â he jokes.
ââŠbut am i annoying enough to get sushi with?â you wink.
you look away from his face, from the floor, from your mind for a second and realize youâre already outside of your apartment door
megumi sighs heavily, tilting his head back towards the sky. you smile because thatâs always a good sign. âi heard they have cute mochi desserts,â you donât give up.
silence follows.Â
âand private booths.â
a whole beat of silence.
âand couples get a free dessert if they post a picture together!â you giggle, dragging him inside after fiddling with the keys for two long minutes. sometimes you agree that megumi has too much patience.Â
âabsolutely not.â he follows, shutting the door behind him and wriggling out of his jacket immediately.Â
you smile and get closer, burying your face in between his pecs. âmm.. does this mean youâll go with me?â
megumi looks down at you. at your hopeful expression, at your cute smile, at the way youâre practically vibrating with excitement over something as simple as trying a new restaurant with him.
his expression softens enough for you to notice. âwhat time?â he says, helping you out of your coat.
your face lightens up even more. âyou will?â
âi never said no.âÂ
âaww! baby youâre the best!â
before megumi can stop you, youâre already peppering kisses all across his cheek, he groans, ears red as his arm stays firmly wrapped around your waist. âbe ready by six thirty. giving you two hours. kay? iâll be right here studying,âÂ
you leave one last, dramatic kiss to his cheek and let go of him completely. âyes captain!â you scurry off and start getting ready.Â
at six twenty-four, megumi knocks at the bedroom door and opens it when you donât answer. he sees you sitting at your vanity upon entry, hands occupied with a makeup brush and a highlighter stick, a silk robe covering your date night outfit.Â
âhi baby!â you smile with all teeth, blowing him kisses through the mirror.Â
âsix twenty-five, slowpoke.â he reminds you.
âheeyyy, this is the last step of my routine! you gave me till six thirty, remember?â
âyes, y/n. i remember.âÂ
you finish fast and remove your robe, grabbing your purse and pausing suddenly, patting yourself down.Â
âwhattâd you forget?â megumi asks, already beside you and adjusting your bodice.
âlipgloss!â you reach for it but his fingers wrap around your wrist to stop you.Â
âi like when your lips are just colored.. i always end up wearing your lipgloss home anyway.â
âgood.â you smile and apply it, puckering up sweetly. megumi huffs before kissing your lips, smirking just a little bit when he pulls away.
you hand megumi your purse and follow him outside. the drive is loud with you in the car, singing along to every song in you and megumi's shared playlistâwhich you made⊠because your boyfriend is megumi fushiguro.
he parks smoothly and helps you out of his car, thumb squeezing and circling your hip as you walk into the restaurant together. the place is packed on opening night, but megumi finds a private booth near the emergency exit, his favorite spot.
you both place your different orders, megumi watches as you excitedly place yours, occasionally glancing at him between words just to make sure heâs interested in the menu.Â
when your food arrives, you take trillions of photos and videos, teasingly calling megumi to get his face in frame and obviously, posting him all over the place. whether it be a photo of his hand holding yours on the table, or his face, or his annoyed face because you wonât stop sticking your phone in his face-face.Â
three hours into the night, megumiâs carrying you to the car with your heels in one hand because youâre wine drunk and too full to move on your own. the pleasantly mellow high makes you feel more romantic than usual, megumi chuckles at the feeling of you kissing and nipping at his neck.
âthere, thereâŠâ he pats your head as he sits you down in the passenger seat, lowering it slightly so that youâre comfortable. âthat okay?âÂ
ânnn-yess!â you giggle, throwing your feet onto his dash.
he spares you a quick side glance before focusing on the road. âdid you like the new sushi place?â one of his hands moves to your thigh, rubbing soft, warm streaks up and down. âhm?â
âyes baby! i looooooveeed it.. see?â you smile almost theatrically, drunk and dazed in such a fuzzy high.Â
he gets you two home quick, megumi carries you up the stairs and into your apartment. taking his time and peeling off your clothes, wiping away your makeup, bathing you in warm water and massaging your collar bones with body scrub.
you sigh and lean into him, falling asleep in the bath. megumi dries you up and lays you in bed immediately, stripping himself of anything other than his boxers and laying down beside you after a long shower.Â
his fingers skim your pretty forehead as he pulls the blanket over you. your boyfriend snaps a quick photo of you sleeping in his bed and posts it on his story with the caption reading, âknocked out immediately. lol.âÂ
megumi sets his phone aside and kisses your cheek carefully, pulling you flush against him and burying his face in your hair.
âmm.. goodnight princessâ he grumbles, listening to yoiur breathing.
the room is dark, save for the faint glow of the streetlights filtering through the blinds. outside, the city is quiet. Inside, the atmosphere is settled. he eventually closes his eyes, drifting off to sleep as the eveningâs fatigue catches hold of him too.
morning light slips through the blinds in golden pale strips, youâre the first to wake up and inevitably, the first to be hit with an aching thirst.Â
you wince just a little, stretching your limbs and trying to untangle yourself from megumiâbut even in sleep, his grip is impossibly strong.
âmm.. megumiiâ you whine, fingers brushing his hair, face impossibly close to his.Â
he stirs, getting off of you to sit up and rub his eyes. you take that chance to slip out of the bedroom and go grab some water, but instead, two strong arms wrap around your waist again.Â
you slide a shirt over your pretty panties, the fabric pools at megumiâs arms that are still around you.Â
âwhere are you going? he murmurs against you, eyes closed, cheek squeezed into your back.Â
âjust getting some water.. do you want some?â you ask sweetly, cute nails brushing his arm softly in the way he likes.Â
âmmhm.. what do you say?âÂ
you pretend to think for a minute, shooting him a look of feigned annoyance before gripping his hand. âgoodmorning baby.â
âgoodmorning girl.â
you giggle and go to the kitchen, pouring two cups of water and skipping back to the room, spilling some on the floor and on top of that, you forgot to close the fridge.
âwhoa baby, no one ever taught you not to run with glass in your hands? what about scissors?âÂ
âwe really need to keep a thinner curtain in the kitchen.. itâs so dark in there.âÂ
âmy girlâs still scared of the dark?â megumiâs expression catches the physical tension of stifling a laugh.Â
âthatâs not funny and you know this already. it scares me to an extent.âÂ
the fridge beeps suddenly and you leap back in bed, clutching his forearm.Â
silence falls as you both process the sound. â.. you left the fridge open.â
âi can hear it. will my boyfriend do me a favor and go close it. hmm?â
he thinks for a moment and then he carries you by the waist, manhandling you out of bed. âgo face your fear.â
ânope.â you move impressively fast, trying to belly flop back in bed but his big arms hold you out.Â
âiâll come with you!â he yells over your stammering and stands up, gently waking you to the kitchen. âsee? not so bad is it?â he whispers, but to you it feels like a millennia away from the fridge.Â
megumi walks faster and closes the fridge, throws you over his shoulder casually and walks back to your bedroom. .Â
you laugh and swing your legs, scratching his bare back softly.Â
megumi doesnât even bother setting you down. âthis is kidnapping, gummy.âÂ
âmhm.â
âiâm calling the police.âÂ
â..you left the fridge open.â
âbut that isn't a reasonable cause for this!âÂ
âitâs the entire reason youâre up here.â
you huff and give his shoulder a tiny bite. âow.â
âyou deserved it.â
âi donât think so.âÂ
he finally lowers you onto the mattress, but before you could flop backward dramatically, his hands stayed around your waist.
âno running with glass.â
âi know.â
âno sprinting through dark kitchens. where you can easily fall and hit your head andââ
âi knooow.â
your grin softens and you bump your forehead against his. âhow about breakfast. your girl is hungry.âÂ
before you can even say anything else, he leans down, pressing a quick kiss against the corner of your mouth.Â
you immediately chased another one, and more after that. his jaw, his beauty marks, his chin.. all polluted with kisses from his favorite girl.
âbabyâŠâ he mumbles, tryingâand fallingâto sound annoyed.
âwhat?â
âyou kiss me too much.â
âthatâs not possible.âÂ
âyouâve kissed me like eight times.â
ânine.â you giggle and kiss him more. âten.âÂ
he catches your chin gently between his fingers and kisses you, slow and patient. long enough that all your teasing dissolved into a little hum against his lips.Â
you wrap your arms around his neck, swaying from side to side. âyou love me sooo much! donât you baby?âÂ
he rests his forehead against yours, closing his eyes. âyeah.â
you cup his face so carefully it makes him want to smile. âi love you too. but iâm hungry.â
âno morning classes today. we could take the dogs for a run and get some breakfast. howâs that sound?â
his thumbs rub lazy circles against your hip beneath the oversized shirt that definitely belongs to him. he lets you decide.Â
you bury your face in his neck. âcarry me to the bathroom. letâs go before the cafes close.âÂ
he rubs your back and lifts you, setting you down on the bathroom counter and handing you your toothbrush, already rinsed with white toothpaste squirted on top.
you both brush together, you occasionally whipping out your phone and snapping photos of your shirtless boyfriend with his toothbrush in his mouth and a rare smile only you get to see.Â
you finish brushing and hop off the counter, getting dressed in some leggings and a large shirt, tying your hair up in the easiest style possible, and putting the dogs on a leash.Â
shiro jumps on you as soon as he sees you, kuro marching straight to megumi.Â
âkuro baby! mommy wants some love too!â you get on your knees and put your arms out for him, and he moves into your embrace.Â
âfierce protectors by the way.â megumi jokes, grabbing their leashes and opening the door for you.
you smile at him as you pass him at the door as if he were a total stranger. megumi makes no comment though, just holds you against him while walking to the cafe.Â
the cafe is warm in the way small neighborhood cafes always are.Â
the windows are fogged slightly from the morning chill outside, the smell of espresso and buttered pastries filling the air while people chatter softly around them.Â
shiro is curled beneath the table after their walk, kuro lying against megumiâs timbs with his head on his paws.Â
usually youâre talking, about the dog wearing rain boots outside, about the old couple across from you and megumi sharing one slice of cake, about how the barista drew a little heart in your latte foam.Â
about literally anything. and while megumiâs mind wonât get off of you being so quiet, heâs also trying to take in how beautiful you look. and your mind.. your mind drifts back to a conversation you had three weeks ago exactly.
outside this cafe, your own friend told you that youâre âtoo muchâ and that you, âneed to leave megumi alone because heâs clearly tired.âÂ
today you just stir your drink, megumi decides to say something after exactly four minutes. âyou donât like it today?â
you blink. âhm?âÂ
âthe latte, bunny.â
âoh!â you force a little smile. âno, itâs good.âÂ
he watches you over the rim of his coffee. âyou sure? we can add more sugar, anything you want.â
âmhm. iâm sure.â
another silence. you break your croissant into tiny pieces instead of eating it.Â
megumi leans back. heâs seen you cry, heâs seen you sick, heâs seen you laugh so hard you snorted juice out of your nose. he knows every version of you and yet, this quiet one is unfamiliar.Â
âdid i do something?âÂ
your head shoots up. âwhat?! no!âÂ
âthen whatâs wrong?â
ânothing.â
âliar.â
his voice is far from accusing, just certain. âyouâve been weird since we sat down.âÂ
you look away toward the window. outside, someone laughs loudly with their friend. your fingers tighten around your mug. âcan i ask you something?â
âyou just did.â
âseriously, megumi.â
âiâm listening.âÂ
you stare into your coffee, voice unusuallyy small now. âam i..â
the words suddenly feel stupid, childish and embarrassing. but megumi waits.Â
âam i too much?â
his eyebrows knit together immediately. âwhat?â
âyou know..â you laugh weakly. âtoo loud, or too clingy?â
silence followes.Â
âsomeone said,â you mumble. âthat i do too much around you.â
you donât even look at him.
âthey said you always look tired, that maybe you just put up with me because youâre nice.â
you pick at your sleeve.Â
âand i know they shouldnât matter, but..â your voice gets quieter. âi started thinking; what if youâre secretly exhausted by me?âÂ
you swallow dryly. the cafe suddenly feels very loud. the clinking dishes, the espresso machine, someone laughing nearby. you cant bring yourself to meet his eyes. âsorry.âÂ
nothing.
then you feel sudden warmth, engulfing your hand and a thumb brushing your knuckles.Â
your tears fall immediately into your lap. concern replaces megumiâs sleepy calm almost immediately.Â
âlook at me.âÂ
you do. his face is completely serious. âwho told you that?âÂ
âit doesnât matter.âÂ
âit does.â
âi just donât wanna make it a thing.â
his jaw tightens. âfine.âÂ
his fingers brush yours, palms squeezing your hand occasionally. âlisten carefully.âÂ
you nod.Â
âwhen have i ever pretended to like something?âÂ
you blink softly. ânever.â
âi donât.âÂ
he squeezes your hand again, bringing it up to his nose, kissing your knuckles softly. âif i donât like someone, they know.âÂ
you canât help the tiny laugh. âyeah, i know.â
âso why,â he asks quietly. âwhy would you think iâd fake loving you?â
your eyes begin to sting. âi just.. you donât seem to get tired.â
âi do.âÂ
âi know, but-â
âno.â
he shakes his head. âi get tired of crowds, noise, classes, people asking stupid questions. maybe besides itadori. and you.â
âi donât ask stupid questions.â you say.
he brushes his thumb across your knuckles. âiâve never gotten tired of you.âÂ
your lip trembles. âreally?âÂ
he looks almost offended. âyou think carrying you around, making you breakfast, getting up close and intimate with you, staying awake with you when you canât sleepâŠâ
megumi tilts his head. âyou think i do all that because i tolerate you?
you find it impossible how much megumi loves you despite being so good at containing it. âno..â
âi do it because i love you.âÂ
your eyes finally meet his again.Â
âi like hearing you talk.â
âeven when i ramble?âÂ
âespecially then.âÂ
âbut interrupt you all the time, i steal your things and i kiss you a lot..âÂ
âyou do all those things. and if you suddenly stopped, iâd think something was wrong.âÂ
a tear slips down your cheek before you can stop it. âiâm sorry.â
âfor what?âÂ
âi donât know why it got to me.âÂ
âit got to you because they were talking about someone you love.âÂ
he brushes the tear away with his thumb. âand because they were talking about you.â
you lean into his hand instinctively.Â
âdo you know waht i see?âÂ
you shake your head.
âi see someone who gets really excited over sushi, the person who waves at strangers.. laughs with them, the girl who cries during dog food commercials and snuggles kuro.â
you laugh through another tear.Â
âyou make every place feel like home, baby.âÂ
he says it so simply, like itâs just a fact. no hesitation and no embarrassment. âi donât want less of you.â his thumb brushes beneath your eye again and your shoulders finally sag.Â
âi want all of you.â
you smile despite yourself, looking down again. âeven when im embarassing?âÂ
âiâve carried you out of a restaurant while you were wine drunk and trying to kiss my neck.âÂ
you stay quiet, still smiling, a bit bigger now.Â
âyou post me all the time too.âÂ
âthatâs not embarassing. besides, you posted me sleeping.âÂ
âthatâs fair.â
you laugh properly this time, a sound that makes something unclench in megumiâs chest.Â
âyouâre really romantic for someone who pretends he isnât.âÂ
âno i donât pretend.âÂ
you roll your eyes and give him such a funny look he can only agree with you.
âfine but only a teeny bit.â
your smile grows with each passing second. it becomes bigger until itâs the smile he recognizes.
he moves his chair next to yours and pulls you closer, kissing your hair. a comfortable silence falls between you, and nearly after a full minute of stillness, you lift your head.Â
âbaby?âÂ
âhm?âÂ
âthat little strawberry tart in the display case..âÂ
he closes his eyes. âhere we go.âÂ
âcan we split one?âÂ
a tiny sigh escapes him. âwe were already going to.âÂ
your entire face lights up. âwe were?âÂ
âi ordered it ten minutes ago. in a to go box. hot.âÂ
you shower him with kisses, he knows you oh so well.
okay so boom I'm obsessed with this its been worked on for decades pls enjoy bai
.⊠ĘË Is this what I think or is it just me? ‷ 3 times Megumi Fushiguro made it kinda obvious he likes you (wc 2.2k)
"Oh yea Fushiguro is definitely into you."
Yuji looked over to Nobara for confirmation, to which she nodded without hesitation.
"I don't think so, he's like giving me mixed signals." You thought back to all the times you interacted with Megumi, you were even starting to doubt whether you two were close enough for you to call him that.
"Dude have you not seen how he's always making heart eyes at you? He looks at you like this."
Yuji tried demonstrating by resting his eyes and staring off into the distance but it looked more like he was constipated (Nobaras words not yours.) It took a good five seconds before he finally went back to normal.
(Probably would've went on longer if nobara didn't smack him)
"Hey! What was that for?"
"This is why girls don't like you."
"Are you even popular enough to talk-?"
Now it was your turn to hit them both. "Focus guys, please."
Nobara sighed and turned back to you. She couldn't believe how oblivious you were. "Remember that time we all went to get sushi with Gojo?"
⊠. ăâș ă . ⊠. ăâș ă . âŠ
After a particularly rough mission, your sensei was kind enough to take the four of you out to get something as a reward. Unfortunately it was pretty late so the only place left was a run down one hidden in the side of an alleyway.
The first sign to get out probably should've been the smell of rust the moment the door opened. But of course Gojo insisted it was okay (it was not).
You ordered a hand roll and sashimi, and Megumi ordered the same. You two shared a look when the food came out, but he reassured that if you took a bite, he would too.
So when the salmon touched your lips, everything was okay-or at least that's what you thought.
The texture was akin to overcooked noodles, way too mushy and exactly how salmon shouldn't taste. Before you knew it, your feet carried you to the bathroom and you were doubling over the toilet in no time.
By the time you got back, everyone was still there except for Megumi, his spot was empty
Apparently he had stepped out when he noticed you were heading towards the bathroom with a hand clamped over your mouth. Minutes later he came back with a bottle of fresh water.
"Drink. I don't trust the water here." He said as he nudged the bottle against your lips.
"Thanks Megu- ah I mean thanks Fushiguro" You lowered your head and took a sip, not noticing the slight tint of red appearing on his face when your fingers brushed.
"Megumi is fine."
You giggled, still ignorant to the stares of your sensei and your two friends, jaws all wide open.
Is Megumi Fushiguro blushing!?
⊠. ăâș ă . ⊠. ăâș ă . âŠ
"Well that was only one time!" you snapped out of it and turned back to the present. Well at least now you know he's okay with getting called by his first name.
You turned back to your bickering friends, now that you think about it, it didn't make sense how Yuji and Nobara bicker so much, they basically share the same brain cell.
"One time? No way! Remember when that barista tried hitting on you at the coffee shop?" The pink boy's eyebrow raised up in a hint hint wink wink way and then he tried to actually wink. yikes
"Never do that again. But Itadori has a point. That barista was scared so badly I heard he quit like right after," Nobara added
Was Megumi that scary? He never came off as scary to you though.
"Well yea cause he's like obsessed with you."
Shoot did you say that out loud? anyways..
"I thought the barista got fired cause he made all of our drinks wrong."
"Because Fushiguro scared him half to death!!!"
· · â ·đ„žÂ· â · ·
It was the hottest day of the year, summer meant your teacher was able to get the students to have less missions so you had some free time. Currently you were standing next to Megumi after Yuji had screamed for you all when he thought his friend got hit on. A bruise was forming from where Megumi had smacked him, ouch!
Nobara and Gojo had walked off somewhere, you were thinking of going with them to cool off in your dorm until Megumi pointed out there was a coffee shop nearby with decent drinks.
It sounded perfect so you texted all of them to meet you both there.
Naturally, being there early meant you went up to order while Megumi secured a table for the five of you. The line wasn't too long so you were able to get to the front quickly.
Your hand reached for your pocket to pay but the cute barista looked up from writing his number on your cup and told you it was on the house.
"Really? Thanks so much!"
"Yea of course! Hey actually do you have a boyfriend? I think you're really pretty and.." his words trailed off when he noticed dark eyes burning holes into his soul.
"Huh? What's wrong?" You turned around but found nothing except Megumi's normal resting face. He was so focused on stopping you from getting hit on that he didn't even notice his two friends and teacher staring from afar.
They had came in and looked for the two of you before Yuji pointed out where you were at the front.
There was a silence between the three until Nobara spoke up.
"So we all saw that?"
"Yeah." "Definitely."
The three turned back to the situation and noticed the barista still smiling nervously while holding your cups. You noticed it was a bit awkward and chuckled nervously.
"Oh hey they're here! Let's go-"
Say less, Megumi thought and dragged you away.
Moments later the same barista came over with all five drinks, when he noticed the same dark pair of eyes glaring at him, there was a visible nervousness on his face as he gulped.
"Here are your d - drinks, enjoy..!"
The moment he turned to walk away, the barista felt his heart drop when Megumi called out to him.
"Hey dude, these drinks are all wrong."
You leaned over Megumi and took a closer look at the drinks that were set down, the tint on Megumi's face didn't go unnoticed by your friends across from you, your teacher was already giggling.
"Yeah he's right, these aren't what we ordered at all."
The barista mumbled a quick apology and sprinted back to the machines behind the counter. You sighed and sat back down in your seat.
"Well that was weird, hey why are you all looking at me like that?"
· · â ·đ„žÂ· â · ·
"Y'know that was kinda hilarious, who knew Megumi could get all flustered like that"
You, Yuji, and Nobara all turned at the new voice joining the conversation. Looks like your sensei Gojo is here, how long has he been standing there?
He took a seat next to Yuji, across from you and Nobara. Seems like he was quite a gossip too, it didn't help when he agreed with your friends that Megumi was definitely down bad for you.
"Once I caught him staring at his phone for 10 minutes after he got a goodnight text with a heart from you."
"Hey I text him that every night!"
"Bingo."
#whatdatmean
At this point you were still in denial, there was no way the guy that's reticent towards others would be doting on you this much.
"Guys Megumi isn't into me, he's just a very good friend, a friend that I see as a friend because he's a close friend of mine and he's just a friend because he's a friend that I really like and-"
oh.
Nobara was smirking at you, "Are you trying to convince us or yourself?
Yuji was about to speak up, but he paused when he noticed a shadowy figure walking past the classroom window. A figure that seems oddly resemblant to his dark haired close friend. The four of you turned towards the window. It wasn't too hard to make out who it was by the spiky hair, for some reason the figure had his collar up.
Now you broke the silence, "Hey when was the last time we saw Megumi with his collar down? Is he not overheating like that?"
Yuji laughed and brushed it off, "He'll be fine, of course you're worried about him."
You felt your face heating up in embarrassment when the others started laughing too, so maybe you did like him. He really was an altruistic person, and a sweetheart especially to you: even if he wasn't great at sharing his feelings.
If only your friends would quit making their points more clear than it already is.
"Hey remember that time he started stuttering at movie night after you started laying on his shoulder?"
Too busy being engrossed in his story telling, Yuji didn't notice the door opening behind and a very irritated fushiguro walking in.
"Hey why'd you guys stop talking-?" SMACK
"Quit talking about me."
Nobara muttered something about stupid boys and going to bed as she walked away. Gojo then suddenly decided annoying Nanami sounded like a great idea and left the room. Yuji said he was heading to shoko because he felt a bump growing where Megumi had smacked him, making it so only the two of you left in the room.
Was this by chance or fate? (Or your friends' evil plan all along? as they snickered outside)
"Did you just get back from a mission? I haven't seen you all day."
Without thinking you had reached out and pulled his collar down, revealing the lower half of his face. He let out a noise of surprise but let it stay down.
Gosh he looked adorable like this.
"Yeah, second grade just outside the city. I picked something up for you too,"
so cute
"That's sweet, walk me back to my dorm Megumi?"
"Oh I- uhm sure"
The walk back was a bit awkward, he was so close next to you he didn't know what to do. His eyes drifted all around the place before finding its spot on your face. It was nice that it was so dark, means it'd be less obvious the fact he was staring.
Though it definitely caught him off guard when he found you already staring at him, lips curled up at corners. He should feel embarrassed, but why did it feel so great when your eyes met out of the blue?
You were feeling happier now, finally listening to the he likes you allegations. You could ask him out right now, it's worth a shot right?
Though you did wanna hear him say the love that he is feeling is true. Maybe you could make plans right now! There's lots of things you could do: go on a picnic, relax at the beach, go out for good quality sushi, there's only so many! And what would your friends say?
"Wow who knew Fushiguro had a heart!!" or "Ugh finally took you too long enough" or-
"We're here."
The sound of Megumi's voice made you jump, you blinked and suddenly the two of you arrived at your dorm, tsk some more time to daydream would've been nice.
"Thanks for walking me back Megumi...wait hey are you free on Tuesday, we could go out? You can pick the place, or I can, whatever you want!"
There was a slight pause until he slowly nodded his head, "Yea...yeah that sounds nice."
"Great! It's a date!"
....
Another awkward silence, geez.
Suddenly Megumi reached in his pocket and pulled out a hair clip-the gift he mentioned earlier. His fingers softly brushed your front pieces to the side as he clipped the little pompompurin onto your hair.
"You look pretty with it."
It took everything inside you not to explode right that instant, if your face wasn't red before it definitely is now. You opened your mouth and thanked him, and just when you thought it couldn't get any better
His finger lifted up and pointed behind you. You turned around expectantly but found nothing, only when you felt a light peck on your cheek did you finally understand.
You giggled, "Megu-" and he was already speed walking down the hall.
"Goodnight Megumi!" you yelled after the faint of his shadow as it disappeared.
You kinda wished you got to kiss him back, but on the bright side your friends were probably right,
Megumi Fushiguro does indeed like you.
Now the only thing left is to do is wonder when he'll officially ask you to be his girlfriend...!
this was so fun to write đ„čđ„ł prolly one of my favs out of my pile of drafts !!
[ SYNOPSIS ] â After a brutal mission, Megumi Fushiguro says something that confirms your deepest fear that your voice is a burden. You shrink yourself into silence for weeks until a chance encounter with Yuuta Okkotsu finally lets you spill everything you've been holding in. When Megumi sees you having fun with Yuuta, his own insecurities convince him he was losing you. w.c: 6.7k
[ PAIRING ] â megumi fushiguro x talkative!reader
[ TAGS ] â THIS FIC IS A REQUEST!! fem!reader, hurt/comfort, established relationship, internalized self-doubt, self-esteem issues, jealousy issues, YUUTA MENTION!!!, platonic friendships, insecure megumi. art by: @/11101AM
If you liked this consider joining my taglist!
The silence in Megumi Fushiguroâs apartment had never felt like a weapon before. It had always been a soft, comfortable thing. The quiet of shared space, the peace of two people who didnât need to fill every moment with noise. But tonight, the silence it felt different.
Megumi had come home late, later than usual, his shoulders hunched and his jaw tight. Youâd watched him shrug off his jacket, his movements jerky and exhausted, and your heart had clenched with sympathy. You knew heâd had a brutal week. A mission had gone sideways, leaving him with a concussion and a civilian casualty that wasnât his fault but weighed on him anyway. Then there had been the endless debriefings, the paperwork, the sidelong glances from the higher-ups who always seemed to be waiting for him to fail. Youâd seen the dark circles under his eyes deepen with each passing day, watched him pick at his food without eating, and felt him toss and turn beside you in bed long after the lights went out.
So youâd done what you always did. Youâd tried to help. Youâd made his favorite tea, the ginger one that stung the nose and warmed the throat. Youâd set out his comfortable clothes, the soft sweater with the frayed cuffs he loved. And when heâd sunk onto the couch with a bone-deep sigh, youâd settled beside him and started talking, hoping to pull him out of his head, to distract him from the darkness you could see swirling behind his eyes.
âI was thinking about time today,â youâd begun, your voice soft and meandering, the way it always was when you were trying to soothe him. âNot like, clock time, but geological time. Did you know that if you compressed the entire history of the Earth into a single year, humans wouldnât show up until like, eleven-forty PM on December thirty-first? And the entire recorded history of human civilization would be the last few seconds before midnight? Itâs wild, right? All of our wars and art and love and everything, just this tiny little blip. And it made me think about how when youâre in the middle of a bad week, it feels like itâs going to last forever, but in the grand scheme of things, itâs not even a fraction of a fraction of aââ
âCan you just be quiet?â
The words werenât loud. They werenât even particularly harsh. But they stopped you cold, your mouth still half-open around the next syllable, your hands frozen mid-gesture. You stared at him, waiting for the punchline, the softening of his eyes, the small quirk of his lips that meant he was teasing.
It didnât come.
He wasnât looking at you. His head was tilted back against the couch, his eyes closed, and there was a furrow between his brows so deep it looked carved there. The words hung in the air between you, ugly and final, and for one bizarre, disorienting moment, a single thought cut through your shock: This isnât Megumi.
The thought was so strong, so visceral, that your eyes darted around the room, half-expecting to see the shimmer of a veil, the telltale distortion of a curseâs technique. Because this couldnât be real. Your Megumiâyour sweet, quiet, secretly tender Megumi who let you put face masks on him and once sat through a three-hour documentary about nudibranchs because youâd said they looked like tiny sea dragons and you loved themâyour Megumi would never, ever say that to you. This had to be a curse. Some vile, parasitic thing wearing his skin, twisting his voice, using his exhaustion as a doorway in.
You didnât realize you were holding your breath until your lungs started to burn. Your hands were trembling in your lap, but you kept them still, kept your face as neutral as you could manage, while your mind spiraled through every exorcism youâd ever studied, every curse youâd ever encountered. You searched his face for some sign of the supernatural, some glint of something that wasnât him.
Megumiâs eyes opened, and you searched them desperately. But all you saw was exhaustion. Bone-deep, soul-crushing exhaustion, and underneath it, a flicker of irritation that made your stomach drop.
He must have seen something in your expressionâthe wide-eyed horror, the desperate scanningâbecause his brow furrowed further. "Nothing is wrong, I just⊠I canât right now. I need quiet. Please.â
Please. Heâd said please, like it was a reasonable request, like he hadnât just taken the thing you were most vulnerable aboutâthe thing youâd been terrified of your entire lifeâand confirmed it was true. You talked too much, you shared too much, you were too much, and the one person youâd trusted with all of it had finally gotten sick of pretending otherwise.
You didnât remember standing up. You didnât remember walking to the bedroom. All you remembered was the click of the door closing behind you, the sound of your own heartbeat thundering in your ears, and the slow, creeping horror of a new thought slithering into your mind.
What if heâs been holding this back for our entire relationship, and tonight he just⊠slipped?
You pressed your back against the bedroom door and slid down until you were sitting on the floor, your knees drawn up to your chest. The tears came hot and silent, and with them, the spiral.
Because the thing was, it made sense. It made terrible, perfect sense.
Youâd always known you talked a lot. Youâd been told so your whole lifeâby teachers who moved your desk to the back of the classroom, by friends who slowly stopped returning your texts, by family members who smiled tight smiles and said, âDonât you ever run out of things to say?â You talked when you were happy, when you were nervous, when you were sad, and when you were excited. Talking was how you processed the world. It was how you connected, how you loved, how you breathed.
And Megumi⊠Megumi was so quiet. He spoke in glances and small gestures, in the brush of his fingers against yours, in the way heâd make you tea without being asked. Youâd always thoughtâhopedâthat your talking was the yang to his yin, that you filled the silences he didnât want to fill himself, that he liked it, that he liked you.
But what if he didnât? What if every story youâd ever told him, every random observation, every excited ramble about sea slugs or cloud formations or the socioeconomic implications of ancient Roman plumbingâwhat if every single word had been sandpaper against his nerves? What if all those little hums and nods, the ones youâd interpreted as listening, had actually been him just⊠enduring?
You thought back through your entire relationship, and the memories shifted and warped before your eyes, taking on a sinister new shape. The time youâd spent forty-five minutes explaining the plot of a book heâd never read, and heâd just sat there, silent. Youâd thought he was being a good listener. What if heâd been wishing you would stop? The time youâd made him watch a video essay about the history of buttons, and heâd fallen asleep halfway through. Youâd teased him about it, thinking it was cute. What if heâd been so bored, so exhausted by your endless stream of words, that his body had just given up?
Every memory became evidence. Every silence became a verdict. And you, who loved him so much, realized with a sickening lurch that your love might have been a burden. That the very thing youâd been offering himâyourself, unfiltered and enthusiastic and overflowingâmight have been the thing heâd secretly wished he could escape.
You didnât sleep that night. You lay in bed, still and silent as a stone, listening to Megumiâs breathing on the other side of the mattress. He didnât reach for you. He didnât say anything. And that, too, felt like confirmation.
âââ
The next morning, you woke up with a new resolve. If Megumi needed quiet, you would give him quiet. If your talking was a burden, you would set it down. You would become smaller, neater, easier. You would be the girlfriend he deserved, not the one heâd been saddled with.
It was the hardest thing youâd ever done.
The first day, you caught yourself a dozen times. Youâd open your mouth to tell him about the weird bird youâd seen outside the window, and youâd snap it shut again. Youâd pick up your phone to text him a thought that had just occurred to you, and youâd set it back down. Every suppressed word felt like a small death, a little piece of yourself that you were burying alive.
But you did it. For him, you did it.
âMorning,â you said when he stumbled into the kitchen. One word. Neat. Contained. You placed his coffee in front of himâblack, no sugar, the way he liked itâand turned back to the sink.
Megumi grunted in response, rubbing his eyes. He didnât seem to notice anything different. Why would he? This was probably what heâd always wanted. A quiet morning. A peaceful coffee. A girlfriend who didnât assault him with trivia before heâd fully woken up.
The third day, the fourth day, the fifth dayâthey all blurred together into a haze. Youâd never realized how much of your life was made of words until you had to swallow every single one. Youâd never realized how lonely silence could be until you were drowning in it.
You didnât have a lot of close friends. It wasnât that people didnât like youâthey did, or at least, they seemed to. But friendships required maintenance, and youâd always poured so much of yourself into your relationship with Megumi that there hadnât been much left over. Heâd been your person. The one you texted at 2 AM when you had a thought that couldnât wait. The one whose shoulder you shook when you saw something beautiful or weird or funny, because sharing it with him was what made it real.
Now you had no one. The thoughts piled up inside you, a tower of unsaid words growing taller every day. You started a journal, but it wasnât the same. The journal didnât hum in the right places. The journal didnât roll its eyes fondly or call you an idiot with that particular soft inflection that meant I love you. The journal was just paper, and you were so, so lonely.
Megumi didnât notice.
Well, that wasnât entirely fair. He noticed something. He noticed that you were quieter, but he chalked it up to mood swings. Youâd always been emotional, up and down, sunshine and rain. He figured you were going through something personalâmaybe family stuff, maybe hormones, maybe just the general weight of being a sorcerer in a world that never stopped needing saving. Heâd ask, âYou okay?â and youâd say, âIâm fine,â and heâd accept it, because Megumi was not, by nature, a person who pushed.
A small, petty part of you wanted him to push. You wanted him to grab you by the shoulders and say, âYouâre not fine. You havenât told me a single fact about marine biology in five days. Whatâs wrong?â But he didnât. He just drifted through the apartment like a ghost, and you drifted with him, two silent ships passing in a fog of your own making.
Weeks passed. You got very good at being quiet. You learned the precise number of words required to get through a day without arousing suspicion: âGood morning.â âDo you want dinner?â âIâm going to bed.â
And through it all, the thoughts kept coming. They never stopped. Every moment of every day, your brain was churning out observations, questions, connections, jokes, stories. Did you know that octopuses have three hearts? Did you know that the moon is slowly moving away from the Earth? Did you know that I love you so much itâs killing me not to tell you? The words pressed against the inside of your skull and you had nowhere to put them.
Until Yuuta.
âââ
Youâd gone to the sorcerer headquarters to drop off some paperwork for Gojoâa favor youâd agreed to in the morning. You were walking across the training grounds, head down, already composing the text you wouldnât send Megumi about the interesting moss pattern on the path, when you literally ran into someone.
âOh! Iâm so sorry, I wasnâtââ You looked up into a pair of kind, worried eyes, and your brain short-circuited. âYuuta?â
Yuuta Okkotsu smiled at you, that gentle, slightly awkward smile that made him look like a startled puppy. âHey! Itâs good to see you. I feel like itâs been forever. How are you? Howâs Megumi?â
And something in you, something that had been wound tight for weeks, just⊠snapped.
âDid you know,â you said, the words tumbling out before you could stop them, âthat thereâs a species of jellyfish thatâs biologically immortal? Itâs called the Turritopsis dohrnii, and when it gets injured or stressed or just old, it can revert back to its polyp stage and start its whole life cycle over. Itâs like hitting the reset button on your own existence. Scientists are studying it to see if there are applications for human aging, but honestly, I think the jellyfish is onto something. Imagine if every time you made a horrible mistake, you could just turn back into a baby and try again. Megumi would probably appreciate that, right? A do-over button for relationships? âOh no, Iâve been a terrible boyfriend, time to become a polyp!â Though I guess thatâs not really fair. Heâs not terrible. Iâm the terrible one. Iâm the one who talks too much. Thatâs literally what he said. Well, not literally, but implied. He said, âCan you just be quiet?â and Iâve been trying, I really have, but itâs so hard because I have all these thoughts and nowhere to put them and I canât tell him because he doesnât want to hear it and I donât have anyone else because he was my person and now Iâm justâIâm just full. Do you ever feel full? Like youâre going to burst if you donât say something, but if you say something, the person you love most in the world is going to look at you with that exhausted, annoyed expression, and youâll die a little inside? No? Just me? Okay. Okay, Iâm sorry. Iâm doing it again. Iâm talking too much. I should stop. Iâm going to stop now.â
You stopped. You were breathing hard, your heart pounding, and you realized with a distant sort of horror that youâd just verbally vomited all over Yuuta Okkotsu, a man you barely knew, a man who was probably just trying to be polite and was now trapped in a conversation with a lunatic.
But Yuuta didnât look trapped. He looked⊠concerned. And interested. And maybe a little bit sad.
âThe jellyfish thing is really cool,â he said quietly. âTell me more about that.â
You stared at him. âWhat?â
âThe immortal jellyfish. How does it work, exactly? Does it remember its previous life, or is it a blank slate every time?â
It was like someone had opened a floodgate. You couldnât stop yourself. You didnât want to stop yourself. You told him about the cellular transdifferentiation process, about the way the jellyfishâs cells could change from one type to another, about the implications for regenerative medicine and the philosophical questions it raised about identity and consciousness and what it meant to truly die. And then, because he was still listening, still nodding, still asking questions with genuine curiosity in his dark eyes, you told him about octopuses and moon phases and the time youâd gotten lost in a museum and accidentally attended a lecture on medieval grain storage, and it had been the most fascinating hour of your life.
You talked for two hours. Two solid hours of uninterrupted, uncensored, gloriously rambling. You told Yuuta things you hadnât even realized youâd been holding in. You told him about the specific shade of gray the sky turned before a storm, and the way Megumiâs hair fell over his eyes when he was concentrating, and the dream youâd had about flying whales, and the theory youâd developed about pigeons being government drones, andâ
And through it all, Yuuta listened. He didnât endure. He listened. He laughed at your jokes. He gasped at your revelations. He leaned in when you got to the good parts, and he shook his head in wonder when you finished a particularly convoluted tangent. He was, you realized with a pang, everything youâd been missing. Not a romantic prospectâyou were too in love with Megumi for that, even now, even after everythingâbut a friend. A real, true friend who didnât seem to mind that you talked too much. Who maybe even liked it.
âThat was incredible,â Yuuta said when you finally wound down, your throat hoarse and your heart lighter than it had been in weeks. âYouâre like a living Wikipedia, except way more entertaining. Megumiâs a lucky guy.â
The mention of Megumiâs name was like a splash of cold water. âI should⊠I should probably go. Iâve taken up enough of your time.â
âYou didnât take anything,â Yuuta said firmly. âI offered. And honestly?â He ducked his head, a little shy. âIt was nice. I enjoyed learning so much, and if it made you feel better, then I am even more glad. So thank you. For talking to me.â
Something in your chest cracked open. âYouâre welcome, thank you too for hearing me.â you whispered. And you meant it.
âââ
The afternoon sun was slanting through the trees of the training grounds, casting long, golden shadows across the grass, and Megumi Fushiguro was worried.
Something was wrong with you. Heâd noticed it in the small thingsâthe way youâd stopped texting him random facts in the middle of the day, the way the apartment had become so painfully quiet, the way youâd answer his questions with one-word responses and tight, brittle smiles that never reached your eyes. Heâd told himself it was a mood swing, or stress, or something personal that youâd share when you were ready. Heâd told himself to be patient, to give you space, to be the steady, silent presence you needed.
But today, the worry had sharpened into something sharper. You hadnât answered your phone. Three calls, straight to voicemail. You were supposed to drop off paperwork for Gojo, a simple errand that should have taken an hour at most, but three hours had passed and you still werenât home. Megumi had tried to ignore the cold knot forming in his stomach. Heâd tried to reason with himselfâmaybe your phone died, maybe you got caught up talking to someone, maybe you just needed time alone. But the image of your face that morning, pale and drawn and so terribly quiet, had pushed him out the door.
He found you on a bench near the old training fields, a secluded spot dappled with light and shadow, the kind of place you used to drag him to for âcloud-watching datesâ where youâd spend an hour narrating the lives of the cumulus sheep and their stratus shepherds. The memory hit him like a punch to the chest, a reminder of everything that had been missing, everything heâd somehow let slip away.
But you werenât alone.
Yuuta Okkotsu was sitting beside you on the bench, his body angled toward you in a posture of complete, undivided attention. And you were talking. You were talking the way you used to talk to Megumi, your hands flying through the air, your face alight with an animation he hadnât seen in weeks, your voice carrying across the grass in a bright, effervescent stream that made his heart seize in his chest.
"âAnd thatâs why Iâm convinced pigeons are actually government surveillance drones,â you were saying, your voice breathless with laughter. âI mean, think about it, Yuuta. Theyâre everywhere. They never migrate. They have that weird red eye thing that looks exactly like a camera lens. And have you ever seen a baby pigeon? No. You havenât. Because theyâre not born. Theyâre manufactured.â
Yuuta laughedâa real, genuine laugh, warm and surprisedâand Megumi watched him shake his head in wonder. âThatâs the most unhinged wild Iâve ever heard,â Yuuta said, but his voice was fond, almost admiring. âI love it. What else do you have? Whatâs your take on squirrels?â
âOh, squirrels are just tree spies,â you said immediately, and you launched into another tangent without missing a beat, your whole body leaning toward Yuuta like he was the sun and you were a flower desperate for light.
Megumi stood frozen at the edge of the treeline, hidden in the shadows of a large oak, and watched.
He should have walked away. He should have announced himself, or texted you that he was there, or done anything other than stand there like a ghost, eavesdropping on a conversation that was never meant for his ears. But he couldnât move. His feet were rooted to the ground, and his eyes were fixed on you, on the way you sparkled, on the way you came alive in a way you hadnât around him in weeks.
Look at her, a voice whispered in the back of his mind, cold and insidious. Look at how happy she is. Look at how sheâs glowing. You havenât made her look like that in weeks. Maybe ever.
He tried to push the thought away, but it clung to him like a curse, sinking its claws into the softest, most vulnerable parts of his heart. He watched Yuuta lean in slightly, his dark eyes soft with genuine interest, and something bitter and acidic rose in Megumiâs throat.
Of course. Of course itâs Yuuta.
Yuuta Okkotsu, the prodigy. The special grade sorcerer who had overcome a curse born of love itself. The one everyone admired, the one everyone trusted, the one who was unfailingly kind and gentle and everything Megumi knew, deep in his bones, he could never be.
Heâs perfect for her.
The thought was a knife twisting in his gut. Yuuta was everything you deserved. He was affectionate. He was emotionally available. He probably knew how to say âI love youâ without choking on the words, without hoping his actions could speak loudly enough to drown out his silence. He would never snap at you after a hard week. He would never make you feel like your voice was a burden. He would listenâreally listen, with his whole heart, the way he was listening nowâand he would make you feel seen, cherished, adored.
And what did Megumi do? He grunted. He nodded. He made tea and hoped you understood that the steam rising from the cup meant you are my whole world. He was a coward, a man made of silences and shadows, and heâd always known, somewhere deep down, that it was only a matter of time before you realized you deserved more.
This is it, he thought, and the cold certainty of it settled over him like a shroud. Sheâs found someone who can give her what I canât. Someone who can listen. Sheâs going to leave me.
He watched you laugh again, your hand reaching out to touch Yuutaâs arm in a gesture of easy familiarity, and something inside him cracked. You used to touch him like that. You used to look at him like that, like he was the only person in the world who mattered. And heâd thrown it away. Heâd thrown it away with two stupid, careless sentences, spoken in a moment of exhausted weakness.
âCan you just be quiet?â
The memory of that night crashed over him like a wave of ice. He remembered the way your face had crumpled, the way youâd frozen, silent and terrified, before retreating to the bedroom without a word. How youâd looked at him like he was a stranger wearing a familiar face. And heâd been too tired, too wrapped up in his own misery, to follow you. Heâd let you go. Heâd let you think, for weeks, that your voice was a burden, that your beautiful, bright, overflowing self was something to be endured rather than cherished.
And now here you were, blooming under someone elseâs attention, because he had starved you of his own.
She deserves this, he thought, and the resignation was so heavy it made his knees weak. She deserves someone who doesnât make her feel like she has to be small. Someone who doesnât need weeks to notice sheâs dying inside. Someone like Yuuta.
Yuuta said something that made you laugh againâa full, unrestrained, head-tilted-back laugh that Megumi hadnât heard in so long heâd almost forgotten the sound of it. The joy in it was a blade, and it cut him to the bone. He wanted to be the one making you laugh like that. He wanted to be the one you leaned toward, the one you touched, the one you trusted with your wild theories and endless curiosities. But heâd forfeited that right, hadnât he? Heâd pushed you away, and youâd found someone else to fill the space heâd left.
If you love her, youâll let her go. The thought was noble, self-sacrificing, the kind of thought the heroes in your stories would have. But Megumi wasnât a hero. He was a jealous, terrified, broken man who couldnât stand the idea of losing you, even if it was exactly what he deserved.
He watched Yuuta stand up from the bench, saying something that made you smile and nod. You stood too, and for one horrible, heart-stopping moment, Megumi thought you might hug him, might press yourself against Yuuta the way you used to press against him. But you didnât. You just waved, a cheerful, grateful wave, and Yuuta walked away, leaving you alone on the path.
Megumi should have waited. He should have let you walk home, should have given himself time to compose his thoughts, to find the right words, to be calm and rational and mature about this. But heâd spent his whole life being calm and rational and mature, and look where it had gotten him. Standing in the shadows, watching the love of his life light up for someone else because heâd been too stupid, too silent, too scared to tell her how much she meant to him.
He stepped out from behind the tree.
You saw him immediately. Your head turned at the sound of his footsteps, and the smileâthe beautiful, radiant smile youâd been wearing for Yuutaâfroze on your face and then slowly, painfully, died. It was like watching a door slam shut, and Megumi felt the impact in his soul.
âMegumi,â you said, and your voice was flat. Neutral. Nothing like the bright, bubbling stream heâd just been eavesdropping on. âWhat are you doing here?â
He opened his mouth to say something reasonableââI was worried about you,â or âYour phone was off,â or âLetâs go home and talk about this calmlyââbut what came out instead was: âSo thatâs it, then. Youâre going to leave me for him.â
Your eyes widened. âWhat?â
âYuuta.â Megumiâs voice was shaking, and he hated it. He hated the way he couldnât control it, the way all the fear and jealousy and self-loathing heâd been swallowing for weeks was spilling out of him like poison. âI saw you. Just now. You were so happy, talking to him. You were so⊠you were yourself again. And you havenât been yourself with me in weeks. So I get it, okay? I get it. Heâs better than me. Heâs everything Iâm not. And you deserve someone like him.â
The words hung in the air between you, ugly and raw and desperate. Megumi watched your face cycle through shock, confusion, and thenâslowly, devastatinglyâunderstanding.
âYou were watching us,â you said quietly.
âI came looking for you.â He couldnât meet your eyes anymore. He stared at the ground, at the grass, at the ants marching in a neat line across the path. âYou werenât answering your phone. I was worried. And then I saw you with him, and you were talking the way you used to talk to me, and I just⊠I knew. I knew youâd finally realized Iâm not enough.â
âMegumiââ
âDo you know what I was thinking the whole time I watched you two?â The words kept coming. His hands were shaking at his sides. His chest was so tight he could barely breathe. âI was thinking, âOf course. Of course itâs Yuuta.â Yuuta is kind and gentle and he probably never forgets to tell you how much he loves you. He probably listens to every word you say and tells you youâre brilliant and doesnât just grunt and hope you understand. Heâs affectionate and heâs sweet and heâs exactly what you need, and Iâm just⊠Iâm just me. Iâm dark and quiet and broken, and Iâve always known, deep down, that someday youâd wake up and realize you could do better.â
He finally looked up at you, and the expression on your face made his heart shatter into a thousand pieces. You were crying. Silent tears were streaming down your cheeks, and you were looking at him with something that wasnât anger or confirmationâit was heartbreak. Pure, aching heartbreak.
âOh, Megumi,â you whispered.
He couldnât stop. The dam was broken, and everything heâd been holding in for years was pouring out in an uncontrollable torrent. âHeâs better for you. Everyone knows it. Gojo, Nobara, probably even you. Yuuta is the kind of person who deserves someone like youâsomeone bright and warm and full of life. Iâm just the guy who told you to shut up when you were trying to help me. Iâm the guy who didnât notice you were dying inside for three whole weeks because I was too wrapped up in my own head. Iâm the guy who canât even say âI love youâ without feeling like Iâm going to choke on it. So go ahead.â His voice cracked, and he felt the hot sting of tears in his own eyes, tears heâd been fighting for weeks, for years, for a lifetime. âIf youâre going to leave me for him, just do it. I wonât stop you. I wonât fight. I just⊠I need to know.â
The silence that followed was deafening. Megumi stood there, trembling, his heart laid bare in the ugliest possible way, waiting for the axe to fall. Heâd said it. Heâd said all of itâevery fear, every insecurity, every dark thought that had ever whispered in the back of his mind. And now you knew. Now you knew exactly how broken he was, exactly how little he thought of himself, exactly how terrified heâd been from the very beginning that you would leave.
You took a step toward him. Then another. And then you were right in front of him, your hands reaching up to cup his face, your thumbs brushing away the tears he hadnât even realized had fallen.
âYou absolute walnut,â you said, your voice thick with tears. âIâm not leaving you for Yuuta.â
Megumi blinked. âYouâre⊠youâre not?â
âIâm not.â You tightened your grip on his face, forcing him to meet your eyes. âIâm not in love with Yuuta. I donât want Yuuta. I want you, you emotionally constipated disaster of a man. I have always wanted you.â
âBut you were so happy with him,â Megumi whispered, and the words came out small and broken. âYou were laughing. You were talking. You were⊠you were yourself. And you havenât been yourself with me in weeks. I thought⊠I thought youâd finally found someone who could make you happy.â
Your face crumpled. âI havenât been myself with you because you told me to be quiet,â you said, and the words were gentle but they hit him even harder. âYou told me to be quiet, and I thought⊠I thought youâd been holding that in our whole relationship. I thought every story Iâd ever told you, every random fact, every ramble about clouds or sea slugs or whateverâI thought youâd just been enduring it. I thought my voice was a burden to you, the person I loved most in the world. So I tried to be less. I tried to be what I thought you wanted. And it was killing me, Megumi. It was killing me because I have all these things I want to tell you, all these thoughts and ideas and questions, and I couldnât, because I was so terrified youâd look at me the way you did that night. Like I was exhausting. Like I was too much.â
Megumi felt the ground tilt beneath him. Everything you were sayingâit was so much worse than heâd imagined. Heâd thought you were pulling away because youâd outgrown him. Heâd thought you were preparing to leave because youâd found someone better. But the truth was so much more devastating: youâd been trying to stay. Youâd been contorting yourself into someone smaller, someone quieter, someone you thought he wanted, and it had been destroying you. And heâd been so blind, so self-absorbed, that he hadnât even noticed.
âI talked to Yuuta today because I was desperate,â you continued, your voice breaking. âIâve been drowning in silence for weeks, and he was there, and he listened. Thatâs it. Thatâs all it was. He was a life raft in the middle of an ocean Iâve been trying not to drown in. Heâs not you. Heâll never be you. I donât want a life raft. I want my person back. I want the man who makes me tea without being asked and lets me put face masks on him and sits through documentaries about nudibranchs even though heâs probably bored out of his mind. I want you, Megumi. Just you. But I need you to talk to me. Actually talk to me. With words. Out loud. So I donât have to guess whatâs going on in that beautiful, overthinking brain of yours.â
Megumi stared at you, his heart pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat. âYou want⊠me? Still? Even after everything?â
âEven after everything.â You smiled, a watery, trembling smile that was the most beautiful thing heâd ever seen. âIâm still mad at you, by the way. Very mad. âCan you just be quiet?â What kind of thing is that to say to the love of your life?â
âIâm sorry.â The words came out in a rush, desperate and sincere. âIâm so sorry. I didnât mean it. I was exhausted and I was taking it out on you, and thatâs not an excuse, itâs just⊠itâs the truth. I was drowning in my own head, and you were trying to help, and I pushed you away because Iâm an idiot who doesnât know how to accept love. I should have apologized the next morning. I should have apologized every single day for the past three weeks. I should have noticed. I should have seen that you were hurting and asked you what was wrong instead of just⊠assuming.â
You shook your head, still holding his face in your hands. âDonât blame yourself. I know you love me, Megumi. But sometimes I need the words too. Sometimes I need you to tell me, out loud, that Iâm not too much. That my voice isnât a burden. That you like listening to me.â
âYouâre not too much.â The words came out fierce, almost angry in their intensity. âYouâve never been too much. Youâre exactly enough. Youâre more than enough. Your voice isâitâs the best part of my day. Every day. When you talk to me about clouds or jellyfish or the socioeconomic implications of Roman plumbing, itâs like youâre chasing all the shadows out of my head. Iâm not bored. Iâm never bored. Iâm just⊠quiet. Iâve always been quiet. But that doesnât mean Iâm not listening. That doesnât mean I donât love every single word.â
You were crying again, but you were smiling too, and Megumi realized with a jolt that these were good tears. Relief tears. The tears of someone who had been holding their breath for weeks and was finally, finally allowed to exhale.
âIâm sorry I compared myself to Yuuta,â he said quietly. âI just⊠I saw you with him, and you looked so happy, and I thought⊠I thought maybe he could give you something I canât.â
âHeâs not you,â you said simply. âAnd I donât want someone who isnât you. Yuuta is sweet. Heâs kind. Heâll probably make some other rambling disaster of a person very happy someday. But heâs not my person. You are. Youâve always been my person.â You paused, and a mischievous glint flickered in your tear-bright eyes. âNow, I have approximately four hundred more facts to tell you, and Iâve been holding them in for three weeks, and Iâm pretty sure my brain is going to explode.â
Megumi let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob, and he didnât kiss youânot yet. Instead, he pulled you into his arms and held you as tight as he could without breaking you, burying his face in your hair and breathing you in like you were oxygen and heâd been drowning for weeks.
âTell me,â he whispered against your temple. âTell me everything. Iâm listening. I swear Iâm listening.â
âDid you know that wombats have cube-shaped poop?â
He laughed, a real laugh, startled out of him by the sheer absurdity of it. ââŠWhat?â
âItâs true! Itâs so they can stack it to mark their territory without it rolling away. Nature is amazing and also deeply weird, and I have so many more where that came from. Are you ready?â
âIâm ready,â he said, and he meant it. He was ready to listen. He was ready to learn. He was ready to spend the rest of his life proving to you that your voice was the most precious thing in his world, that your words were never a burden, that he would never, ever make you feel small again.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, to take in the way the setting sun caught the tears still drying on your cheeks and turned them to gold. âI love you,â he said, and the words didnât choke him the way they usually did. They felt right. They felt necessary. âI should have said it more. I love you and I love your voice and Iâm sorry I made you feel like you had to be quiet.â
Your smile, when it came, was the sun breaking through the clouds after a storm. âI love you too, you absolute walnut.â
And then you kissed him, and he kissed you back, and the silence between you wasnât a weapon anymore. It was a soft thing. A comfortable thing. A thing you could share together, without fear.
Later, you would walk home together, your hand in his, and you would tell him everythingâthe immortal jellyfish, the medieval grain storage, the flying whales, the specific shade of gray the sky turned before a storm. He would listen to every word, and he would ask questions, and he would make the right hums in the right places, and he would silently vow to spend the rest of his life being the kind of partner who deserved the gift of your voice.
But for now, there was just this: the two of you standing in the golden afternoon light, holding each other like youâd found your way home after a long and lonely journey. The sky overhead was doing that thing you lovedâturning that specific shade of gray before a stormâand youâd tell him about it later. You had time. You had all the time in the world.
February is a terrible time to become an orphan. Itâs an even worse time for Yuuji to become a de facto foster parent.
But thatâs probably any time, really.
Itadori Yuuji & Sukuna Ryomen (platonic)
warnings: mentions of past child abuse/neglect, mentions of self-harm, mentions of suicide, mentions of alcoholism, small mentions of pedophilia and incest
wc: 14.9k
an: whatâs up sad kidfic nation! welcome to another gut-wrenching take on Sukuna and Yuujiâs gut-wrenching relationship. this fic is entirely @belimah's fault. we have been talking about it nonstop over the past few weeks, and I pulled a lot from our silly little selves to write this kidkuna. If you look at Sukuna and see your silly little self then you know. this is a love letter to the ones who know â€ïž
dividers by @pixopix and @pxrce-lain
taglist is open!
The very first thing to cross Yuujiâs mind, when he gets the call from social services, is Kaoriâs asshole husband picked a hell of a time to kill himself.
First thought. First reaction. The second it registers, he wants to claw his brain open and tear it from his mind. Itâs pure awful, makes his stomach cramp and his teeth ache. Makes him shiver as the thought settles into his body, a filth he can feel mixing with his sluggish blood.
Bad time for Kenjaku to kill himself. Vile. Selfish. Rotten. How dare he.
But Yuujiâs rotten to the core, these days. These days, months, the past year. Heâs become the kind of person who thinks things like that; thinks of himself before the kid heâs traveling way the hell across the city to pick up. Yuujiâs been trying very, very hard not to act on his impulses, on account of all of them screaming at him to torpedo his own life irreversibly. Heâs not acting on his first thoughts, and he doesnât judge himself for them, either. Yuujiâs been focusing on what he does after.
The action after he hangs up the phone is he gets in the car. But the thought is âthis is a fucking terrible time to saddle me with an orphan Iâve never met.â
Damning. Unignorable. When Yuuji finally kicks it and they place his ugly heart on the scale, the weight of his sins will send that metal plate straight into the ground.
His first thought is foul; cracks open a hideous side of himself. His second thought is âthis is a terrible time to become a foster parent.â
He almost throws up after that one. But he doesnât have time; thereâs a six-year-old waiting for him in a police station an hour away. Yuuji might not be father material, but even he knows heâs gotta get to that kid as soon as possible. He canât leave Sukuna alone for long.
Yuuji grips the steering wheel, flying down the highway. Sukuna. Kaoriâs son, which makes him YuujiâsâŠcousin? Nephew? Yuujiâs not sure thereâs a word for âchild of a distant cousin who went rogue and married a juiced-up ex-cult leader.â
His nails dig into the wheelâs leather upholstery. Well. The word now is âguardian.â âParental guardian,â if heâs got the legalese right.
Yuuji resists the urge to crash into a guardrail. Instead, he tries to make a to-do list.
Pick up Sukuna.Â
In progress. Already, Yuujiâs doing just great.
Get a lawyer.Â
Higuruma, Yuuji thinks distractedly. Heâll call him tonight.
Crushed that problem without even trying. Yuujiâs a natural at this parenting shit.
He grimaces; kind of wanting to throw up again. He grits his teeth and shoulders on.
3. âŠ
What else should he do? What the hell else will Sukuna need?
A place to sleep, Yuuji realizes with dawning horror. Heâs taking Sukuna back to the apartment, heâs going to need a bed. Heâs going to need a room.
Yuujiâs stomach twists, folds in on itself. He forces himself to breathe, canât, and pulls onto the shoulder of the road.
Car goes in park. Head pushed between his knees; hands clasped behind the back of his neck. Breath shallow, unstable. Sukuna needs a room, Yuujiâs got a spare room. Itâs dusty, no doubt. Shoved out of sight behind a locked door, and Yuuji wouldâve swallowed the key if Megumi hadnât given him that flat, unimpressed look. Forward thinking of him.
Yeah, Sukuna will get his own room. Trembling, Yuuji pulls himself upright and steers back onto the highway. His own room, and thatâsâgood, Yuuji thinks, skin too tight. Itâs good, itâll, itâll probably help Sukuna adjust, or whatever. Good for him to have his own space.
Yeah. Sukuna will get his own space, Yuuji just has to swap out the crib for a big-boy bed.
God above.
At least the cribâs untouched, he thinks miserably. Unused. He can probably just dismantle it and send it right back to the manufacturer.
For a moment, his vision goes white hot. He swallows it back and glances at the GPS. Twenty more minutes toâto figure this out.
Yuujiâs brain spins in circles. He cannot, for the life of him, figure out number four on the to-do list.
And then heâs at the police station.
He is suddenly aware that heâhe cannot mess this up. YuujiâYuuji needs to be very, very careful.
A voice rings in his ear, sudden and sharp. Too careless, too reckless, too ready to throw a punch. You never slow down, you never think, Yuuji!
Yuuji bats it away desperately. He canât bring that with him into this meeting, heâs a wreck enough as it is.
Carefully, hands shaking with the physical exertion of holding himself back, Yuuji eases the car into a parking spot.
He kills the engine; leaves his hand on the key. Yuuji needs to get to Sukuna as soon as possible. But he also needs a minute.
He sets a timer on his phone, sixty seconds. When itâs done, he tells himself sternly, when itâs done heâll go in.
Yuuji unbuckles his seat belt thirty seconds after the sharp alarm hits the windows. Outside, he pulls his hood up over his head. Itâs raining, he notes dully. Dark and gloomy, because the universe always knows when to kick him in the ass.
Inside, the station is busy. His eyes track motion, jumping from person to person as he watches people scurrying about.
A stone settles in his stomach. WhereâŠwhere the hell is he supposed to go? Is there a ânew orphan waiting for distant cousinâ room?
Panic spreads, then drops as he catches a flash of bright pink hair. Exhaling gratefully, Yuuji heads toward it like a beacon. Sukuna has the same shade of hair as his own, though even from afar he can see Sukunaâs is longer, more unkempt.
Same hair, and that, apparently, is where the similarities end, because as Yuuji approaches the little boy slumped in the rickety folding chair, Yuuji realizes Sukuna has four arms.
Four arms.
Whatâwhat the fuck?
How the fuck is he supposed toâwhat do they expect him toâwhat the fuck?
Half-terrified, Yuuji takes in Sukuna from behind the safety of his drawn hood. Four arms, some kind of whacked up facial scarring, and threeâfour eyes total. Two normal ones (ha) stacked on the left side of his face, and two big, pulsing, diagonal ones bulging out of the angry scar tissue.
Itâs enough to make his blood run cold. What were cousin Kaoriâs prenatal vitamins, Yuuji wonders faintly, chippings from the Chernobyl elephantâs foot?
Someone coughs, and Yuuji hastily whips his head up and throws off his hood. Water scatters everywhere, and the woman at the desk in front of Sukuna winces as droplets fling across her face.
âI am so sorry,â Yuuji apologizes hurriedly, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a crushed up napkin. âUh, I donât know if youââ He offers it up awkwardly.
âItâs fine,â the woman reassures him stiffly. âYou must be Itadori Yuuji.â
He nods quickly. âYes, thatâs me.â
âIâm the social worker assigned to Sukunaâs case,â she gestures meaningfully at the kid huddled up by her desk.
Râright. Okay. Uhâ
Not knowing what the hell to do with himself, Yuuji crouches down, kneeling so heâs eye level with Sukuna. He works overtime trying not to react, but holy fuck, itâs even worse up close. Sukunaâs eyes are red, big and red and entirely unnatural. What the fuck even is this kid?
Four big red eyes, that were big, for a second. Â Wide and captivated, looking right at Yuuji, isnât that something? Staring bright at him, God knows why, before narrowing into slits. Suspicious, andâand this kid isnât slick, Yuuji can tell Sukuna is devastated.
The ground rumbles; Yuuji struggles to keep up. What happened just then? Did Yuuji let the shock show? Fuck, fuck, heâs gotta make that ground up, right the fuck now. Sukuna needs to trust him, because he is hunched and huddled and gripping the chair with all four hands, and Yuuji is not sure heâll be able to get him in the car if he doesnât go willingly.
Yuuji forces himself to smileâgenuine, genuine, please for the love of God let this lie stickâand relaxes his face. âHey, kiddo,â he says softly, gently, Yuuji can be gentle. âMy nameâs Yuuji.â
Sukuna stays quiet, face scrunching even further. Yuujiâs prepared to wait him out, but the woman behind the desk speaks up.
âSukunaâs very quiet,â she says, a little too severely.Â
The kid flinches, small shake wriggling through his body.
Yuuji raises his eyebrows. âIs he?â he calls out to her without turning, without moving his eyes from Sukunaâs face. Then, to Sukuna: âare you?â
There is a wild fraction of a moment where Yuuji thinks Sukuna will open his mouth. The woman cuts him off, if he was even going to talk in the first place. âSukuna hasnât said anything since he came here.â
Her tone is reproachful. Yuuji rolls his eyes, only for Sukuna to see. Kid just lost his father, what the hell does she expect him to say?
Yuuji doesnât bother answering her. Instead, he talks to Sukuna. âI knew your mom, she was my cousin.âÂ
Weâre related, he begs silently, please trust me on that alone.
Yuuji waits. Waits, waits. Finally, Sukuna opens his mouth.
âDid you think she was crazy for marrying my psycho dad, too?â
Defiance like armor, brittle and weak. His voice is high and thin, and extremely like any other six year oldâs. It breaks Yuujiâs heart a little.
âSukuna,â the woman at the desk hisses. âHow dare you sayââ
âNo,â Yuuji interrupts her. Sukuna shrunk small even further, this woman is not helping. âItâs fine. I didnâtâKaori and I werenât close.â
Yeah, he thinks. We all thought she was crazy. Now Iâm worried your dad fed her straight bleach while she was pregnant.
Sukuna sizes him up. He doesnât say anything else.
Yuuji almost raises a hand to rub the exhaustion out of his eyes, but catches himself. This is not exhausting, he chants in his mind. Sukuna is not a burden.Â
Abruptly he realizes the severity, the quiet horror of the police station. Fluorescent lights buzzing, fans whirring, and Sukuna trembling lightly in his crap folding chair. Yuuji needs to get Sukuna out of here. Yuuji needs to get himself out of here.
He stands up. âWhat,â he clears his throat. âWhat are the next steps?â
The woman gestures at a second chair in front of her desk. Yuuji falls into it awkwardly. She begins to talk, but Yuuji quickly tunes her out.Â
Sukuna is on his right, a couple inches behind him and almost a foot away. Heâs awfully far, and he probably can only see the back of Yuujiâs head.
He hesitates, then slides his chair backwards. It makes a horrible grating sound on the linoleum, but when heâs finished, heâs level with Sukuna. Still a foot of space between them, but heâll leave that bridge for Sukuna to cross. If he wants to.
âSorry,â Yuuji calls to the woman, âcould you say that again?â
She grimaces. Yuuji might have imagined it, but he would swear Sukunaâs body unclicked.
He settles his hands on his thighs. Okay.
There are forms. Lots of them. Yuuji stretches his arm out and passes the clipboard back and forth; signs on the long lines, initials on the short ones. He has no idea what heâs signing, Higuruma will probably eviscerate him for it later, but Yuuji canât focus on little bits of paper with words that run together. Heâs got an ear on the conversation so he can nod in the right places. The rest of him is trained on Sukuna.
This kid is a four-armed lockbox, Yuuji realizes in dismay. He has no idea what Sukuna is thinking, only that heâs angry. Thatâs not normal, right? Kids are usually easy to read, arenât they? Open?
Well, Yuuji certainly was, he thinks wryly. Heart on his sleeve and emotions in his mouth. Sukuna seems more closed off, which is going to make this even harder.
Which isâgreat.Â
Yuuji stifles a sigh and keeps an eye on Sukuna anyway. Closed off, but heâs got a feeling a crackâs gonna show.
Three minutes later, Yuuji gets the miserable satisfaction of being right: Sukuna sniffs. Just a little.
Yuuji locks onto it like a missile. And thenâ
Sukunaâs lip wobbles. Almost imperceptible.
The neurons fire, and Yuujiâs lifting his hand toâto what? he doesnât knowâwhen the womanâs sharp voice intercepts him.
âWeâll need to do a home visit.â She looks him over coolly. âTomorrow. To make sure Sukunaâs in a safe environment.â
She says his name harshly. The whole sentence is harsh. Sukunaâs lip goes again, and Yuuji chooses to invade his space because he doesnât know what else to do.
âThatâs fine,â he says easily, widening his hips, stretching his knee toward Sukuna. The kid canâcan have it, or hold onto it, or push it away in disgust. Yuujiâs too drained to panic about how Sukuna reacts.
Sukuna does nothing. Yuuji leaves the knee where it is.
The social worker takes him through what to expect during the home visit. Again, Yuujiâs only half paying attention; heâs pretty sure heâs too boring to have any red flags. Instead, he watches Sukuna carefully out of the corner of his eye.Â
It takes a couple minutes of Yuuji nodding vacantly at the woman, but soon that unclicking bit happens again. Shoulders lowered just a fraction, all four hands loosened. Sukuna must think no oneâs looking at him, Yuuji guesses. He doesnât realize Yuujiâs got an unblinking, quiet focus when he wants to. He can be a very, very good listener.
Itâll probably save his skin, because soon enough, Sukuna gives Yuuji a crack. A little fracture, just enough room for movement, and Sukuna shifts. Yuuji braces himself, worried itâs going to be a tear this time, but instead Sukuna just shuffles himself closer to Yuuji.
Itâs almost undetectable. Completely soundless; the chair remains right where it is, but that small, little-kid body is definitely closer than it was before. As if to prove it, Sukuna does it again, slides himself just the slightest bit closer to the knee Yuujiâs shoved in front of him.
Yuujiâs entire body relaxes, breath coming easy for the first time since he picked up the phone. Okay. Maybe he can do this.
Then the woman says the magic words: medical records.Â
Yuuji nearly jumps out of the chair, scrambling up to get the file from her hand. He startles Sukuna, who freezes solid. Yuuji shoots him an apologetic look, dropping back down and resettling his knee right where it was.
âSorry, kiddo,â he murmurs, already flicking through the papers. âThis oneâs important.â
The womanâs giving him a knowing look, and Yuuji canât even blame her for it. He pours through the forms eagerly, looking for something, anything that can explain why Sukunaâs got two too many arms, why his face is so deformed.
He looks, but thereâs nothing. There isnât anything. Sukuna is an incredibly healthy child.Â
That canât beâ
Yuuji goes through it again, this time as if he were at work and reviewing a clientâs history. Kenjaku had X-rayedârightfully soâand the films of Sukunaâs chest and arms look good, he notes absently. Wellâitâs the most fucked up thing heâs ever seen in his life, those extra arms below the armpits, but all the bones are the same. Yuuji checks, traces every arm right down to the fingertip, but thereâs not so much as a joint out of place.
Hm.
Thereâs information on his vision, too. Eyes arenât in the realm of a physiotherapist, but Yuuji reads the document anyway. Twenty-twenty vision, in all four eyes. Yuujiâs fascinated despite himself.
Sukuna should have seen a dermatologist, too, Yuuji thinks. Make sure thereâs nothing hiding in that extra tissue. But when he looks around for a dermâs report, thereâs nothing.
Damn. Yuuji will have to find a doctor. He adds it to the to-do list.
Then he checks the dates on the x-ray, the eye doctor appointment. His head flies up, eyes seeking out the social worker.
âThese are two years out of date,â he says, almost accusatorially.
She fixes him with a grim look. Anger begins to light him up.
âWhenâs his last checkup?â Yuuji asks, louder now.
The womanâs face hardens even more. âThose forms are all we have,â she says quietly.
His head whips to Sukuna. âWhenâs the last time your dad took you to the doctor?â he demands.
Sukuna shrinks, jolts away from him. Shit.Â
âSorry, kiddo.â Second apology in less than two minutes, but Yuuji finds himself shaking with rage. âNot your fault, just trying to sort through some stuff. Make sure youâre healthy.â
Sukunaâs eyes drop to his own arms, but Yuuji doesnât have time for that, heâs too busy fishing for the vaccination records.
Itâsâitâs not as bad as he feared. Sukuna got his scheduled vaccines up until he was four.Â
Two years behind schedule. Thatâs fine, Yuuji thinks distractedly. Well, itâs notâhe needs to find a pediatrician.Â
Damn. He adds it to the to do list; bumps it up to priority number one. Two, after calling Higuruma.
Dental recordsâoddly enough, Sukuna had his last checkup within the year.Â
Yuuji has to stop at that one. Dentist, but not the pediatrician? Heâll never know what the hell went on in Kenjakuâs head.
He looks over the document. All fine; baby teeth starting to fall out. Looks like Yuuji will have to play tooth fairy.
That kicks him in the chest. He has to stop and control himself; make sure Sukuna canât see that he feels like he ate a bullet.
He forces a deep breath. Yuujiâs got to be careful with his expression, now, because Sukuna is outright staring at him. No shame, no awareness, just boring his eyes straight into Yuujiâs face.
Itâs better than ignoring him, Yuuji supposes. He pushes on.
Medical records finished; a few more forms, and then the social worker stands up. âIâll need to talk to you privately.â She glances at Sukuna, then at Yuuji. âWe can speak in a room down the hall.â
Yuuji has a feeling this will be bad. He starts to get to his feet.
A handâtwo handsâshoot out and grab hold of his knee. Two from the same side, two little-kid left hands.
Yuuji swallows down his shock and looks to his right. Sukunaâs dropped his stony anger, now his face is wide with fear, eyes big and pleading.
Yuuji stays right where he is. âI think weâll need to talk here,â he says softly.
The woman grimaces. âItâsâI know, but,â her eyes flick to Sukuna, and she shakes her head.
His throat tightens. Sukuna canât see, canât hear whatever sheâs going to tell Yuuji.
Shit. It is going to be bad.
He exhales slowly. Okay.Â
Carefully, he turns to Sukuna. âListen, kiddoââ
Sukuna interrupts with a violent shake of his head.Â
âIâIâm not going to go anywhere, okay?â Yuuji tries to sound soothing. âI just need to talk to the social worker, but youâll be able to see me the whole time. Just a couple steps that way.â
Sukunaâs hands clench into fists. âHow many steps?â His voice is so tiny.
Uh. He looks at the social worker. âTen?â
âSix,â Sukuna insists immediately.Â
Sure, what the hell. âOkay, then. Six steps.â
He stands up slowly. Yuujiâs not trying to trick Sukuna, but these arenât exactly going to be the smallest steps Yuujiâs ever taken.
He walks six medium-sized paces away, then turns back to look at the kid.Â
Sukuna nods begrudgingly. Okay.
Yuuji looks pleadingly at the social worker. Surprisingly, she gets up readily enough, joining Yuuji the short distance away from Sukuna.
She takes a file with her, opening it so that it's carefully angled away from Sukuna. âWe had to take pictures,â she explains in a low voice, showing him a printout of Sukunaâs naked torso.
Yuuji feels his face twist. His throat catches horribly. Across Sukunaâs stomach is an ugly scar, maybe three inches long. The skin around it is raised and mottled; it healed infected; likely not cared for properly.
He raises his eyes to the social worker. Her mouth sets. âWe donât know,â she says quietly, reading the question on his face. âThis kind of wound, itâs inconclusive.â
His face goes heavy. Sheâs really going to tell him that that hellish, mottled line was unintentional? That someoneâthat Kenjaku didnât do that to Sukuna?
âI know what youâre thinking,â she says reassuringly. âBut it is entirely possible that it was by accident.â
Yuuji looks at her sideways. Sheâs been rude and stiff with Sukuna this entire meeting; can Yuuji really trust her? If she thinks heâs a freak, would she ignore this red flag because itâs on a four armed body?
She must pick up on his suspicion, because she takes a deep breath. âListen, IâIâve seen this kind of thing before,â she whispers imploringly. âSometimes itâs an intentional wound, sometimes not. We canât say for certain.â
He clears his throat; glances at Sukuna. The kidâs glaring at him hard, like he could grab hold of Yuuji with his four red eyes and yank him back over with the strength of his stare.
Yuuji wobbles. He clears his throat again. âDid Sukuna say anything?â he breathes softly.
The woman shakes her head. âHe wouldnât answer when we asked,â she murmurs, âbut thatâs normal.â
He nods carefully, eyes dropping back to the photo. One of Sukunaâs hands is in the shot, he realizes, scratching at his chest. Yuuji looks closer and realizes there are tiny, bright scrapes spanning his torso.
Yuuji snaps his gaze to the woman, questioning. She inclines her head. âSelf-inflicted,â she confirms. âHe didnât like the picture, but we, we had to.â She looks almost apologetic.
His throat sticks. Right.Â
âIs that all?â he asks softly. Yuuji doesnât want to stay this far from Sukuna any longer than he has to. Not afterânot after that.
He steps toward the chair, but the woman stops him with a hand on his arm. âDonât rule out that itâs self-inflicted,â she intones quietly, eyes flicking to the file.
Yuuji nearly chokes; forces himself to swallow. God almighty.
He holds in place, steadying himself. Wills his bones to stop rattling. âOâkay,â he answers, voice low. âThank you.â
Handing the file back to her, Yuuji walks back to the chair, kicks it a few inches closer to Sukuna, and drops into it. The kid immediately grips the denim of his pants with his two left hands, the right twisting into the hem of his shirt.
Yuuji reaches out and pats him on the back tiredly. Sukuna stiffens, recoiling.
Suddenly, Yuujiâs exhausted. âIs thereâwhat else is there to do?â
âRelease form,â the social worker hands him a clipboard. âThen youâre all set.â
Thank god. Yuuji scribbles his name, then nudges Sukuna carefully. âCâmon, kiddo, letâs get out of here.â He rises to his feet.
The woman hands him a file. âYour copies of the documents,â she explains. âGuardianship will go through the courts, it might take a while.â
âRight.â Yuuji has no idea what she just said, there is not a single spare inch in his brain to process anything other than the fact that Sukuna just stood up.
Yuuji stares down at him, taking him in. The extra arms look even odder now, sitting just beneath the others, torso long enough to accommodate them. Yuuji looks at the arms for half a second, then fixates on Sukunaâs shirt. T-shirt with four sleeves, he realizes.Â
Damn. Where the hell is he going to get four sleeved t-shirts?
A tomorrow problem, Yuuji decides wearily. His eyes travel down, looking at the worn green cargo pants, the scuffed little kid sneakers. He glances up to see Sukuna glaring at him, chin raised defiantly even as his shoulders fold in on themselves.Â
Yuuji forces his face to flatten out, pulls on a weak smile. Sukunaâs hairâs long and grown-out, falling into his eyes. He needs a haircut, and that sounds like just the kind of thing Sukuna will love, Yuuji notes grimly.
His eyes fall on Sukunaâs bare arms, gooseflesh under the cool air of the station. Itâs late February, chilled enough that Yuujiâs wearing a long-sleeved shirt under his rain jacket.Â
âNo sweater?â He speaks softly to Sukuna. âRaincoat?â
Sukuna freezes, then shakes his head.
Yuuji tries not to dwell on it as he shucks off his jacket. Putting the file under his arm, he takes a step closer to Sukuna, holding his coat by the shoulders.
Sukuna looks up, anger barely covering the anxiety in his eyes.
Yuuji looks down. Kid only comes up to his hip.
His hands shake; he swiftly clenches them into fists, waterproof material of the coat crinkling in his grip. Yuuji makes himself relax, kneeling down to Sukunaâs height again.Â
âItâs raining out there,â he explains. âWant to wear this until we get to the car?â
Sukuna hesitates, then bobs his head. Carefully, Yuuji drapes the coat around him, helping his upper arms into the sleeves and rolling them up until his hands show. When he zips him up, the hem nearly touches the floor.
His hands stutter again. Can Yuuji do this?
Sukuna looks at him, eyes wide enough to eat up his whole face.Â
No other choice. Yuuji stands up. âI parked just down the road,â he says, then stops short.
The car. Shit. Yuuji doesnât have a car seat.
Fucking heâll, this just gets more and more complicated.
âUh.â He looks at the social worker. âIâI donât have a car seat for him.â
She narrows her eyes, then shrugs. âCommon enough, just be careful. Heâs on the older end, anyway.â
Yuuji nods. He can be careful.
âAlright, kiddo, letâs go.â He holds out his hand, just in case Sukuna wants to take it.Â
He catches hold of it immediately, squeezing tight.Â
Yuuji exhales. Okay.
They make it five paces before Yuuji jolts, turning to look over his shoulder.Â
He never asked the social worker about Kenjaku. About howâhow Sukuna found out.
His stomach pitches. Did that slimy motherfucker do it at home? Wasâwas Sukuna the one toâ
Yuuji abruptly turns, marching Sukuna backward. Heâs gonna have to talk to the social worker alone again, he realizes. Fuck.
How should heâOkay.Â
Crouching down again, Yuuji grabs Sukunaâs other hand. âI need to talk to the social worker again,â he says seriously. âBy myself.â
Little kid nails dig into his palms. Sukuna shakes his head violently enough that hair whips Yuuji in the face.Â
âI know,â Yuuji tries to be soothing. âSo, uh, thisâthis is what weâll do.â
He gets to his feet. âYou said six steps?â Sukuna nods. âOkay, weâll walk until weâre six steps away.â Letting go of one hand, Yuuji shuffles Sukuna toward the desk. When he gauges the six steps he stops, looking down at Sukuna seriously.Â
âI will be right back.â He enunciates, words slow and careful. âWait right here.â Yuuji holds in place until Sukuna gently lets go of his hand. Then he bounds back to the social worker.
Yuuji angles himself so heâs still facing Sukuna, leaning down to whisper in her ear. âWhat happened with his father? How didâhow did Sukuna end up here?â
She takes a breath and stands up, putting her mouth at Yuujiâs ear. âSukuna came to school wearing the same clothes for a week. When the teacher asked, he told her he hadnât seen his father in a long time, longer than usual.â
Longer than usual. His chest tightens.
âOur officers picked him up at the school,â she finishes. âHe came right here.â
âSoâso he didnât seeâŠanything,â Yuuji trails off lamely.
âNo. He didnât.â The woman catches his relief. âSmall blessings.â
Yuuji nods. Okay. âWhat happenedâwhere did you find Kenjaku?â Something occurs to him. âHow do you know it was a suicide?â
Her gaze shifts, like sheâs giving Yuuji a moment to brace himself. âCoroner is doing the report, but we found him washed ashore beneath a bridge. Technically inconclusive; we might label it as an accident, depending on if we find anything in his system.â
Theyâll find something, Yuuji thinks savagely. Rage blasts through him, contorting his face into something foul, something he doesnât want Sukuna to see. He adjusts slightly, turning to hide until he can get himself under control.
The womanâs eyes widen; heâs startled her. Yuujiâs not in a position to care.Â
âWâwe have grief counseling,â she offers, placating. âIf you need it.â
Ha. Yuujiâs lips twist into a snarl. Maybe tomorrow this will kill him all over again, maybe heâs adding to the list of things to hate himself for later, but all Yuuji can feel for Kenjaku is pure loathing. Raw hatred for what he did to Kaori, to Sukuna.
His skinâs got that terrifying hue again, he knows it has. The voice in Yuujiâs ear surges. Stop getting so angry, stop with this bullshit sense of justice! Righteous anger doesnât give you an excuse to throw a punch, Yuuji!
He turns his back to Sukuna. The kidâthe kid doesnât need to see this. Yuuji takes a step away from him, distancing himself, trying to get his expression under control.
As soon as he moves, thereâs a small yelp. Sneakers scuffing on the linoleum, water-proof fabric screeching, and a thud.
Yuuji looks over his shoulder. Sukunaâs sprawled on the floor, hands splayed out in front of him, looking at Yuuji with such keen betrayal it makes Yuujiâs heart stop.
Heâs there in a second, knees hitting the floor as he comes to rest by Sukuna. He reaches out a hand, but Sukuna skitters backward before he can touch him.Â
âYou said six steps!â Shaking; little-kid voice hollow with despair.
Yuuji swallows. âI know, bud. Myâmy fault.â He sits back on his knees and watches Sukuna struggle to his feet. âForgot I put you in that straight-jacket,â he says, ruefully eyeing the raincoat.
Sukuna glares at him distrustfully. More ground to make up.Â
The exhaustion hits deeper. Taking a deep breath, Yuuji stands up, reaching down a hand.
This time, Sukuna doesnât take it. Which isâgreat.
Feeling suddenly hopeless, Yuuji turns slightly toward the social worker. âThank you,â he calls quietly.
Her face evens out. âOf course.â Then she fixes him with a look. âHome visit. Tomorrow, eleven am. Donât forget.â
Yuuji nods. Eleven am. Donât forget.
âThank you for coming,â she adds softly, eyes on Sukuna.
It takes Yuuji aback. He manages a small nod. Ofâof course he was going to come for Sukuna, what else would he have done?
He looks down. Sukunaâs staring at him again, eyes wide and fixated. As soon as Yuuji meets his gaze, the kid glares at the floor, lip jutting out.
Yuuji takes a deep breath. âReady to go?â
Sukuna doesnât say anything.
Yuuji walks a step forward; turns and waits.Â
Sukuna hesitates, then scrambles to catch up. He nearly trips again, but Yuujiâs quick to reach out and steady him.
He pulls his hands away as soon as Sukunaâs solid on his feet. Sukuna huffs, crossing his arms protectively across his chest.
Yuuji stuffs the file up his shirt to keep it safe from the rain, then leads Sukuna out of the police station. As soon as they get outside, Sukuna latches onto Yuujiâs leg.
Carefully, Yuuji puts his hand in front of Sukunaâs face. âGotta walk, bud.â Â
Sukuna grabs onto Yuuji with both free hands. Okay.
They step out from under the awning. Immediately, rain drenches Yuuji, and he grimaces. Glancing at Sukuna, he realized the hood of the raincoat is down; Sukunaâs hair is getting wet.
âWant the hood up, kiddo?â he calls.
Sukuna shakes his head furiously. Shrugging, Yuuji walks him to the car.
Itâs close, but by the time they get there, Yuujiâs soaked through. Opening the back door, he gestures at Sukuna. âHop in, youâre wet enough as it is.â
Sukuna looks at the car, distrustful again. He doesnât want to get in.
âWe gotta get home, kiddo,â Yuuji tries. Sukuna glowers at him, refusing to cooperate.
Yuujiâhas no idea what to do.
âUh, what wouldââ he shakes his head. âOkay, uh, look.â Yuuji reaches inside and turns on the interior light. âSee? Just a car.â
That doesnât seem to help much. Sukuna stays where he is.
Rainwater drips down Yuujiâs back. The documents from the social worker will get ruined, he worries frantically, and then Higuruma will have his head.Â
Heâs losing patience. âSukuna.â Voice flint, hard. âJust get in theââ
Sukuna flinches, sharp and violent. His body jerks like he wants to get away from Yuuji but has nowhere to go.
Yuuji stops. Brings himself to heel.Â
One breath later, heâs crouching in front of Sukuna. âWe need to go home, bud,â he explains slowly. âAnd I want to get out of the rain.â
Sukunaâs face twists. He says nothing.
Yuuji almost yells aloud. What do you want? Why wonât you get in the damn car?
He exhales. âWhat is it, Sukuna? Can you tell me why you donât want to get in the car?â
Sukuna looks at Yuuji, lip trembling. No, he canât. Yuuji gets to play a guessing game.
He is so tired. Yuuji canâtâhe is so tired.
He grits his teeth and replays the afternoon in his head. How Sukuna freaked when he had to step away and talk to the social worker.
Oh. Okay.
âListen, kiddoâIâm gonna help you get into the car,â he explains. Sukuna begins to shake his head. âI know you donât want to, but, just listen, please?â Yuuji waits until Sukuna holds his head still. âIâm going to help you into the car, Iâm going to click the seatbelt for you, okay? Then Iâm going to shut the door.â Sukuna freezes solid, little hands squeezing Yuujiâs painfully.
âIâm gonna shut the door,â Yuuji continues, and then Iâm going to run to the front of the car, open the door, and jump inside.â He looks at Sukuna seriously. ââCause itâs raining. I will be right there, I promise.â
Sukuna squints at him. Yuuji bites back a groan. âItâll beâlook, Iâll be back in the car before you can count to six.â
Lightbulb moment. He raises his eyebrows, looking at Sukuna appealingly.Â
Sukuna shifts on his feet, sneakers squelching in the rain. âPromise?â
Little kid voice. Yuuji nods firmly. âI promise.â
Sukuna nods, then lets go of Yuujiâs hand and climbs in the car. Yuuji gets the seatbelt buckled, then leans back and eyes Sukuna. âYou know how to count to six?â
Those four eyes roll. âEveryone knows how to count to six,â he mumbles.
Longest sentence yet. Yuuji pats himself on the back. âOkay, show me.â
He waits. Sukuna gets a gleam in his eye. âOnetwothreefourfivesix!â
âYeah, see?â Yuuji shakes his head. âThought you would do that. Iâm fast, but Iâm not that fast. Letâs count together.â
Slowly, Yuuji leads him through the count. âOkay, now just you. Slow as we did it.â
Dutifully, Sukuna counts again to Yuujiâs pace.
âOkay.â Yuuji stands up. âIâm gonna go now. Iâll be in the car by the time you get to six, as long as you go like we practiced.â
Sukunaâs tiny jaw sets. His lip wobbles.Â
God, this fucking sucks. âI know, bud,â Yuuji tries to reassure him. âJust count to six, okay?â
Sukuna pulls in a shaky breath. âOneââ
As soon as his lips form the long âoâ Yuujiâs moving, shutting the door as carefully as he can manage and sprinting to the driverâs side door. He yanks the door open, throws himself inside, and slams it shut behind him.
Panting, he turns to Sukuna over his shoulder. âHow was I?â
Sukuna looks at him, jaw slack for a moment. Then he gets that clever look again. âI got to seven,â he says reproachfully.
âLiar,â Yuuji accuses easily. If he had taken more than six seconds, heâs pretty sure Sukuna would have had a meltdown.
Sukuna pouts. âHowâd you know?â
Yuuji taps his forehead, taking out the damp file from under his shirt. âSecret.â
He turns the car on and gets a good look at Sukuna. Heâs small in the backseat, seatbelt coming up a little too high on his chest. One pair of hands is gripping the strap, the other playing with the sleeve of the raincoat. âWant me to help take that off?â Yuuji offers.
Sukuna clutches it tighter, shaking his head.
Yuuji shrugs. âOkay.â
He fiddles with the dash, turning the heat on and engaging the windshield wipers. Itâs dusk, heâd spent almost two hours with the social worker. Late enough that heâs going to need to sort out dinner.
He glances at Sukuna in the rearview mirror. What on earth does the kid want to eat?
Heâll deal with that later, heâs got an hourâs drive to figure it out. First, he needs to call Higuruma.Â
Yuuji twists around again to face Sukuna. âWeâre driving to my apartment, okay? Itâs far away, itâll take about an hour. Youâll stay there for tonight.â
The kid tenses up. That may have been the wrong thing to say. Heâd only added âfor tonightâ because he wanted to reassure Sukuna; let him know that Yuuji would only be permanent if he wanted him to. But now heâs made Sukuna retreat again.
A sudden wave of self-hatred and despair nearly takes him. He forces it back.
Getting a grip on himself, Yuuji turns back around, puts the car in gear, and pulls out of the parking spot. When theyâre cruising on the highway a few minutes later, he looks briefly over his shoulder. âIâm gonna make a phone call, okay? Itâs gonna be on speaker so I can keep driving.â
Without waiting for an answer he pulls up Higuramaâs contact and hits call. He answers on the first ring.
âEvening, Itadori.â His cool baritone fills the car. Instantly, Yuuji feels a bit better.Â
âHello, Higuruma.â Then he stops. How should he say this?
âWhatâs got you calling on a school night?âÂ
A joke, but Yuuji flinches. âI, uh, I need your help.â
âMy help?â Higuruma clarifies. âOr a lawyerâs?â
Honestly? âBoth.â
âTell me what happened,â Higuruma orders.
âMy couââ Suddenly, Yuuji is hyper aware of Sukunaâs gaze in the rearview mirror.
Yuuji switches gears. âUh, can Iâcan I call you back later? In a few hours?â
Silence.
Please, Higuruma. I need help.
âIs it an emergency? Can it wait until tomorrow? Iâve got a tricky case going.â
Yuuji meets Sukunaâs eyes. He swallows. âItâs an emergency. It canât wait.â
Higuruma clicks his tongue. âAlright. Call me when you can.â The line disconnects.
Yuuji exhales slowly. Damn. He was hoping to cross off number one on his to-do list in transit, but heâhe canât call Higuruma now. Not where Sukuna can hear.
âDo you like music?â Yuuji offers politely.Â
He nearly smacks himself in the face. What an idiotic question. But it seems like Sukuna canât answer. Yuuji watches him worry at his lip.
âIâm going to put on something quiet,â he decides. âLet me know if it bothers you.â
Yuuji switches on the radio, knocking the volume down. He needs some mindless background noise so he doesnât think too hard aboutâabout anything.
Plus, he doesnât want to talk to Sukuna. It makes him wince, but itâs true. Heâll have the rest of tonight, and tomorrow, and the day after that and on and on to talk to the kid, try and get him to open up. For now, for this car ride, Yuuji wants to pretend that the four-armed, four-eyed kid in his backseat doesnât exist. That his life is still the same as it was three hours ago.
The play-pretend lasts about a minute, before his stomach growls. Dinnertime, he thinks grimly. Yuujiâs about to walk into another minefield; how can he get Sukuna to tell him what he wants to eat?
Yuuji tries to narrow down the options. Heâs not cooking; doesnât have the energy. What takeout can he get? Whatâs on the way, whatâs close enough to his apartment, what will Sukuna eat? How many choices should he give him?
Heâs preparing a list when thereâs a gasp from the backseat. Yuuji looks in the rearview mirror to see Sukuna frantically searching the floor of the car, head whipping back and forth. âWhatâs going on, bud?â
âMyââ Sukuna gasps again. âMyââ he sucks in a breath and canât make it go down; body jerking against the seatbelt.
Yuuji turns off the radio, panic rising. âWhoa, slow down, kiddo. What happened?â
âMy backpack!â Sukuna manages, clearly terrified. âI lost my backpack!â
Oh. Yuuji relaxes. âDid you have it at the police station?â
Sukuna nods, tears brewing in all four eyes. His face is pale, and his chin wobbles.
Yuuji chews his lip. Theyâre most of the way home now, only about twenty minutes out and a good forty from the station. If he goes back for it now, they wonât be home for another hour and forty minutes.
It might make sense to go now, save twenty minutes from when he inevitably makes the drive tomorrow. But Yuujiâs exhausted, and the thought of driving for another two hours in the rain makes him want to keel over.Â
Besides, at this rate Sukuna wonât need the backpack; heâs not going to school tomorrow.
School. He needs to figure out Sukunaâs school.Â
Fuck. He nearly bashes his head against the steering wheel.
Wearily, he adds it to the to do list, then calls over his shoulder. âWeâre almost home, and itâs raining pretty hard. Iâll come back for it toââ
âNo!â Sukuna yells fervently. âNo, I need it now!â
The shouting surprises him. Yuuji opens his mouth indignantly, ready to give as good as he gets, but the words die when he takes another look at the kid. Sukunaâs shivering, shaking like a leaf, and slow tears are dripping onto his shirt. His eyes are wide with panic, and heâs still gasping for breath.
Okay. Yuuji steels himself and pulls onto the shoulder.
He puts the car in park, then unbuckles his seatbelt so he can turn around fully. âHey,â he says softly, reaching a hand towards Sukuna in case he wants to hold it. âWeâll go back, okay? Iâll turn around and we can go get your backpack.â
Sukuna grabs onto Yuuji with all four hands. One around his thumb, two encircling his fingers, and the last around his wrist. Unnerving, but he forces himself not to flinch. âAlright, kiddo? Iâll turn around right now.â
Sukuna nods, tears still flowing. If he were a real parent, Yuuji would have a pack of tissues in his car.Â
Instead, heâs just himself. He twists, taking his free hand and wiping Sukunaâs face with the edge of his shirtsleeve.
Sukuna switches his hands and takes hold of Yuujiâs other wrist. Two little kid hands on each arm, tugging almost painfully, but Yuuji lets himself drift closer.
âIsââ Sukuna hiccups. âIs my backpack still there?â
Itâd better fucking be.Â
Yuuji deliberates. âWell, the police station is like, the ultimate lost and found, right? So even if someone loses itâŠitâll still be at the police station.â
He grimaces. That did not make sense. But Sukuna nods, tears beginning to subside. Â
Yuuji stretches to drag his shirtsleeve against Sukunaâs cheek one last time. Then he blows a raspberry. âAlright, kiddo. Letâs motor.â
He tries to turn around. The hands on his arms latch tighter. Yuuji raises an eyebrow. âNeed these hands to drive, bud.â
Sukuna pushes out his lip. His fingers donât budge.
It stops Yuuji dead. Sukuna wants the backpack, but he needs to hold Yuujiâs hands? What the hell is Yuuji supposed to do?
He glances at the steering wheel. HeâŠhe could probably drive with one hand.
Yuuji nearly screams at himself. On the fucking highway? In the rain? Donât be reckless, Yuuji!
He looks back at Sukuna, taking in the firm set of his jaw; the staunch determination in his eyes. The persistent wobble of his lip.
Kidâs not letting go.Â
Okay.
âCan I have one hand?â Yuuji asks quietly. âNeed one hand to drive.â
Slowly, Sukuna peels two tiny hands off Yuujiâs left wrist. They fly to his right hand, clutching at his fingers.
Okay. Yuuji twists himself around and does his seatbelt one handed. He reaches across his chest to put the car in gear and merges back onto the highway.
No car seat. Be careful. Yuuji carefully drives one-handed for forty minutes, in the rain, back to the police station.
To his credit, he has never been more cautious in his life. No room for distracted driving, not an inch. He shoulders through his exhaustion and drives on.
Distantly, he registers a tapping against his fingers. Glancing in the rearview mirror, he realizes Sukuna is gently pressing Yuujiâs fingertips onto his chin, one after the other. Pinky, ring, middle, pointer, thumb. Then in reverse; thumb, pointer, middle, ring, pinky.
Huh. Yuuji chooses not to dwell on it.
The rhythm stays constant, mellow background noise until they reach the station. Yuuji quickly parks, collects Sukuna, and hurries inside.
Heâs trying not to show it, but Yuuji is shaking in his boots. Instinct tells him that if the backpack really is missing, itâs going to be catastrophic.
The social workerâs still there, and she nods at them as soon as theyâre in earshot. âThe backpack?â she guesses.
Relief floods through him as he spots it, laying by desk. âYeah. Look, kiddo, itâs still there.â
Sukuna gasps, already running toward it. Again, he trips on the edge of the raincoat, and Yuuji snags the back of the jacket to halt him in place.Â
âCareful, bud,â Yuuji warns as Sukuna rights himself. âStill got that ballgown on.â
Impatient, Sukuna wriggles free and launches himself at the bag. He checks it on all sides, then hastily rips it open. Yuuji watches as he peeks into the backpack and sighs, tension leaking out of his body.
âAll good?â Yuuji asks.
Sukuna nods, plunging his hand inside the bag. Yuuji thinks heâll pull something out, but Sukuna just keeps his arm there, other three hands holding the backpack aloft.
Yuuji exhales. Okay. One river crossed.
Before they go, he turns back to the social worker. âWill I be able toâcan I get into their apartment?â He needs to get his hands on some of Sukunaâs shirts, he realized, along with his other clothes.
âYouâll have to go with one of our officers,â she says apologetically. âBut yes, as long as you call ahead of time, we can let you in.â
Yuuji sucks his teeth. âCan I get a key?â Makes things easier if he can get in and out on his own.
The social worker smiles sympathetically. âThe apartment and everything inside it is tied up in the courts now. Anything for him is fair game,â she explains, nodding at Sukuna. âBut the rest has to be sorted out.â
Yuuji winces. Right.Â
He glances down at Sukuna. âAny chance I can look in the bag for an extra shirt?â Elementary school kids carry backup clothes, right?
Sukuna clutches the bag tighter. His eyes go hard. Or, as hard as a half-soaked six year old can manage.
Yuuji deflates. No going in the bag. Damn it.
He looks at the shirt Sukuna has on. Grubby. Heâs been wearing it for days, Yuuji remembers. And the home visitâs tomorrow.
Yuuji will just wash it tonight, he thinks wearily. Do a pathetically small load of laundry. Jack up his electricity bill.
Whatever. No other choice.
âIs thereâanything else?â he asks the woman lamely.
She shakes her head, looking almost a little sorry for him. âNo, thatâs all.â
He nods. âCâmon, kiddo.â Yuuji reaches down in case Sukuna wants to hold his hand. He grabs onto it, one hand in Yuujiâs, three on the backpack.
âIâm glad you came and got the bag,â the social worker calls out.Â
Yuuji nods tiredly. No other choice.
He walks Sukuna back to the car. Yuuji prepares for the worst, but the kid goes into the backseat far easier this time. Yuuji instructs him to count to six, books it to the driverâs side, and falls into the seat, exhausted to the core.
Seatbelt, key in the ignition, and Yuuji eyes Sukuna in the mirror apprehensively. He doesnât want to cause a meltdown, but he canât drive one-handed. Heâs too tired, itâs too dark, itâs raining too hard. Heâs not willing to risk it again.Â
Thankfully, Sukuna seems to be fine, pacified by whateverâs in his bag. Maybe Yuuji should check, make sure itâs not a dead rat or something, but thereâs no energy for it.
Barely energy to put the car in drive and get back on the highway. Yuuji doesnât bother to put the radio on, just turns on his headlights, cranks up the windshield wipers, and focuses on the road.
He looks at Sukuna every so often. The kidâs still holding the bag tight; clutching it right against his small chest. His face is half inside it, and for a few minutes, Yuujiâs really worried about the rat. But after a couple of anxious glances, Yuuji sees a flash of pink synthetic fur. Heâs got a stuffed animal of some kind, he realizes, a plushie.
His heart squelches. Thank God Sukuna didnât leave it at the school, he thinks wearily. Or the apartment.
The apartment. Shit. Yuuji will have to make the trip there, and soon. Probably by the end of the week.Â
And itâll have to be when Sukuna is in school. Instinct tells him not to bring the kid back there if he doesnât have to.
He taps his thumb against the steering wheel. Sukuna has to be in school when he goes to Kenjakuâs apartment. So Yuuji will have to figure out school first. Then he can go get Sukuna more clothes.
His fingers twitch. Should he pull Sukuna out of his school? Yuujiâs pretty sure heâs enrolled in an elementary school near the police station, over an hour from Yuujiâs place. Gonna be hell hauling him there and back every day. Would it be better to stick him in a school thatâs closer?
Better for himself, Yuuji thinks. But whatâs better for Sukuna?
Probably to stay where he is. Can Yuuji commute there and back twice a day?
Fuck. He doesnât know.
His breathing ticks up. God, this is already so fucking hard. How the fuck is he supposed to do this?
How the fuck is he supposed to do this alone?
Breath coming thick and fast, nearly panting now. His foot shakes on the gas pedal, his hands white-knuckle the steering wheel.
No, this wonât work. Yuuji thinks about his breath, his lungs, the clusters of alveoli inside. He counts his inhales, counts his exhales, and thinks of nothing but the road until the clock ticks five minutes over.
Heâll solve the school problem tomorrow, Yuuji decides dully. To stave off retching into the dashboard. The home visit, thatâs his first priority.
From the backseat, Sukunaâs stomach growls.
Yuuji smiles to himself. Thatâs his first priority. âAlright, kiddo,â he calls. âIâm starving. What should we get for dinner?â
Itâs dark, he can barely make out Sukunaâs expression in the backseat. Which is a shame, because the kid stays silent.Â
Predictable.
Yuuji decides to throw out some options. âItâs late, and Iâm too tired to cook,â he says honestly. âThat means takeout for tonight.â
He catches Sukuna perk up excitedly. âDonât get too used to it,â he warns. âI cook at home, and Iâm a vegetable guy, okay? Youâre walking into a vegetable household.â
A pout. Heâll learn to live with it, Yuujiâs not about to feed the kid fast food every night.
âThis is just a treat,â he adds. âBecauseââ
Because what? Because Sukunaâs father died? Because his life will never be the same, because Yuujiâs life will never be the same?
âBecause we met today,â he finishes lamely. âAndââ
Come on. Come on, Yuuji, say something good, say the right thing, say the right thingâ
âAnd Iâm glad I met you. No matter what.â
He swallows. That, okayâokay, yeah. That went down okay.
Sukuna turns his head into a pocket of shadow, unreadable in the backseat.
Yuuji clears his throat. âSoâdo you like McDonaldâs?â
Silence. When he checks the review mirror, Sukunaâs vibrating.
He grins. âLetâs go to McDonaldâs.â
Soon enough heâs pulling onto the exit ramp, navigating through the twists and turns of his little neighborhood, and nosing the car into the McDonaldâs drive thru.Â
Yuuji stops, just before heâs level with the intercom. Foot firmly on the break, he twists to look at Sukuna. âCan you tell me which Happy Meal you want?â he asks softly. Yuuji really, really doesnât want to get the wrong one.
Yuuji bites back a laugh. âOkay, great. One chicken nuggets Happy Meal coming right up.â
He feeds the order into the intercom, along with two double cheeseburgers and two orders of fries. Heâs absolutely starving; the past seven hours have eaten him alive. Surely two helpings of McDonaldâs fries will fix him, Yuuji thinks tiredly.
Yuuji idles, pays, and drives off, taking them back to the apartment. Itâs close, and soon Yuujiâs pulling into his parking spot. Grabbing the food and the paperwork, he kills the engine and quickly circles the car to reach Sukuna.Â
Itâs drizzling. Thin, but it soaks into Yuujiâs hair anyway. He opens the back door, and Sukuna unbuckles his seat belt and hops out, backpack held tight in all four hands. Heâs still wearing Yuujiâs raincoat, and Yuuji takes one of his hands carefully and helps him into the building, making sure he doesnât trip.
Keys, lobby door unlocked, and then theyâre at the elevator. Yuuji looks down at Sukuna, and for a moment he swears he remembers being that small. âYou want to push the button?â he asks, gesturing at the call button for the elevator.
Sukuna holds, then shakes his head. Yuuji shrugs, pressing it himself.
Another flint thought, this one cautious: how will Sukuna fare in the elevator? His reactions have been kind ofâis he going to be afraid? Claustrophobic?
As it turns out, no. Sukuna walks into the elevator without a care in the world, one hand absently playing with the frayed end of the backpack strap. Yuuji presses the elevator for his floor, waits for the ding, and leads Sukuna down the hallway. âHere, kiddo, you ever get lost, you remember 5K, alright?â Yuuji says mindlessly. âIâll teach you the address, and Iâll give you my phone number to memorize, okay?â Thatâs standard elementary school stuff, right?
Sukuna doesnât give an answer, but Yuuji doesnât look for one. He unlocks the door and flicks on the light, hanging his key on the hook. âShoes off, bud,â he instructs. He braces for another meltdown, but Sukuna complies readily enough.
It occurs to Yuuji that this is a big moment, looming large in Sukunaâs world. This is going to be his new home, this is his first look at his new life. Yuuji shouldâshould put some effort into this. Should make it sparkle, make it exciting, make Sukuna feel special and wanted, above all else.
Yuuji has had a hell of a day. He is so tired.Â
Slow, sluggish, he plods over to the small dining room table and drops the food onto it. Then he retraces his step; helps Sukuna out of the raincoat. âCâmon, before the food gets any colder.âÂ
Sukuna follows Yuuji to the table, backpack still in his grip. Exhausted, mindless, Yuuji unpacks the food, leaving the kid to scurry onto one of the two wooden chairs. Sukuna has his milk, Yuuji thinks, but maybe heâll want some water. Mechanically, he gets a glass out of the cupboard and fills it at the tap.
Yuuji should have some water, too. Wellâ
He freezes.
Shoved in the back of the fridge, hidden behind a bottle of soy sauce and a jar of pickles Yuujiâs pretty sure is expired, is a beer. Not a six pack or anything, justâjust one.
He shouldâve dumped it out. He doesnât think Nobara and Megumi know he didnât.
Yuuji has a vision of himself pulling open the fridge door, closing his hand around the cool neck of the bottle, pulling it free and cracking the beer open.
He takes a deep breath. Thinks of his lungs, and the alveoli in them.Â
By the time he exhales, his muscles have loosened. Tendons relaxed, joints opened up. Itâs easy to get a second glass of water for himself and carry both over to the table.
He places one cup in front of Sukuna, whoâs eyeing the Happy Meal reverently. Heâs too short for the chair, and he kneels on the seat so he can reach the table. Yuuji sits across from him, falling into the other chair and blearily pulling his bag of food closer.Â
Yuuji unwraps the first burger and inhales it in two bites. He watches Sukuna while he eats, curious what the kid will do. Sukuna closes all four eyes, clenches all four hands very tightly, and whispers something to himself. Then he eagerly opens up the box and fishes out the toy.Â
Amused, Yuuji looks on while Sukuna rips open the plastic wrap and wrestles the toy free. He holds it close, cupping it in two hands and bringing it right up to his nose. Anticipation and hope shine so brightly.
Then his face falls, disappointment etched into the downturn of his mouth. Huffing, Sukuna sits back on his heels, crossing his upper pair of arms over his chest.Â
âDidnât get the one you wanted?â Yuuji guesses.Â
âNo,â Sukuna mutters. âI already have three of this one.â
Yuuji raises an eyebrow. Three? How many Happy Meals was Kenjaku feeding this kid?
Morosely, Sukuna goes to put the toy in the backpack, laid carefully beside his chair.Â
âWell, hold on,â Yuuji interjects. âLetâs see it.â
Sukuna looks at him distrustfully. He holds the toy in two hands, closing them tight so itâs hidden.
Yuuji tries again. âCan I see it?â
Squinting all four eyes, Sukuna removes one hand, holding out the toy in his palm. He doesnât hold it out very far, and Yuuji grimaces internally, leaning way over to get a good look.
Itâs a McDonaldâs bag, he realizes, in miniature. Only a couple of centimeters tall; a little plastic replica of the paper brown bag that sits on the table below it, carrying the rest of Yuujiâs meal.
âCool,â Yuuji says honestly. It kind of is. Sleek, insofar as a tiny piece of plastic can be sleek.
It was the right thing to say. Sukunaâs face relaxes, his eyes light up, and for a moment, he wears a triumphant grin.
Then he tries to play it off cool. âI guess,â he mumbles, a six-year-oldâs attempt at nonchalance. It fails instantly, and Yuuji nearly chokes as Sukuna carefully polishes the toy clean on a napkin and stores it in his backpack.
Yuuji starts in on his second burger, watching as Sukuna gingerly pulls out the box of nuggets, bag of apple slices, and carton of fries. Surprisingly, he goes for the apple slices first, opening the bag and shoving them into his mouth. Yuuji expected him to ignore them; thatâs what he did as a kid. Instead, Sukuna wolfs them down at Mach 1.
Huh. Heâll have to buy some apples.
Sukuna cleans out the bag inside of a minute, then puts the spent plastic into the big red box. He turns to the nuggets, undoing the latch and popping the box open.
He jolts, looking up at Yuuji in confusion. âThereâs six!â
Yuuji swallows a mouthful of burger, wiping his mouth. âYeah, I got the six-piece meal.â He looks at Sukuna a moment. âDid you want only four?â
Sukuna holds, then shakes his head. âSix is better.â
Yuuji nods. He thinks so, too.
Then he realizes he has an opportunity to tease Sukuna. He tries it on for size. âI could eat two,â he offers. âGive you only four.â
The reaction is immediate. Sukuna scowls, yanking the box closer. âNo!â
Yuuji smiles, holding his hands up in surrender. âDonât worry, kiddo, Iâm not after your nuggets.â
Sukuna still looks at him with narrowed eyes. âYou have two burgers,â he accuses. âAnd two fries, thatâs not fair! I only have one!â
âYouâre right,â Yuuji agrees easily. âHere, we can share.â
He rips his bag open, sliding the mess of fries to the middle of the table. âNow we both have a lot of fries.â
Sukuna stares up at him, mouth open. Yuuji shrugs. âItâs only fair, right?â
Sukuna nods enthusiastically. Yuuji opens a ketchup packet and squirts it over some of the fries, popping them into his mouth. Sukuna copies him.
Yuuji exhales. Okay.
He picks up his burger and keeps eating, while Sukuna turns back to his own meal. Yuuji quickly realizes that he has a method. He takes a nugget, drenches it in ketchup, then dunks it into a mustard container. Sukuna carefully eats only a quarter of it, sets it down, and then selects three fries that are all around the same length. He dunks them again, just ketchup this time, and stuffs them in his mouth. He repeats the process; quarter of the nugget and three fries, until the entire chicken nugget is gone.
Yuuji takes a handful of fries for himself. Huh. Kidâs veryâŠsystematic. Precise.
Sukuna continues the pattern for the first nugget. On the second, he stops after the first bite of chicken.Â
Sizing Yuuji up, gauging his reaction, Sukuna reaches out and snatches another fry, this time from the pile between them.
Yuuji inclines his head. âGo ahead. Weâre sharing, arenât we?â
Another nod, so strong Yuuji worries those extra eyes will fall off. Sukuna finds three other fries that are around the same length as the one he took from the pile, dunks them in ketchup, then eats them greedily.Â
Yuuji finishes his burger and begins to steadily make his way through his portion of the fries. Sukuna repeats his routine until the chicken nuggets are gone, then burns through at least a quarter of the bag of fries in the center.
Yuuji wipes his mouth. âPace yourself, kiddo. Donât want you to get a stomachache.â
Sukuna picks his head up furiously, nostrils flaring. âYouâre still eating!â
âTrue,â Yuuji allows. âBut Iâm an adult. I know when to stop so my stomach doesnât hurt the next day.â
Does he? Is he that good at taking care of himself? Whatever. Heâll lie to get Sukuna to slow down.
âIâm still hungry!â Sukuna insists.Â
âYou sure?â Yuuji questions. âWhatâs your stomach telling you?â
Sukuna pouts. âHeâs hungry!â
Yuuji nods. âOkay.â He really doesnât want Sukuna to get sick, but he also doesnât want to fight with the kid over this.
And, he realizes, and he doesnât want to withhold food from him. Not on night one.
Eyes narrowed, Sukuna grabs a fistful of fries and gobbles it up. He might be sick in a few hours, Yuuji thinks wearily. Oh well.Â
âŠis it just âoh well?â Should he have pushed harder to prevent Sukuna from getting sick? Yuuji desperately wishes he were a real parent.
The feeling swallows him. The spiral approaches, Yuuji can see it from the precipice. He teeters for a moment.
A wrinkle of plastic has him refocusing. Across the table, Sukunaâs wrestling with the milk bottle, trying to get it open.
Yuuji reaches his hand out. âNeed help?â
Sukuna huffs, dropping it into his palm. Yuuji opens it and hands it back, placing it into two of Sukunaâs outstretched hands.
Sukuna drinks the milk in careful sips. Yuuji keeps picking at the fries, but Sukuna doesnât touch them again, just drinks the milk until itâs empty. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, Sukuna pops the lid back on and sets the bottle on the table. He sits back on his heels and looks at Yuuji expectantly.
Yuuji raises an eyebrow. âNot gonna have any more fries?â
Sukuna pushes his lip out. âMy tummy said no.â
Yuuji cracks a grin, nodding. âGood on you for listening.â
He chugs his water, then stands up from the table. âNeed the bathroom, bud?â
Sukuna nods, hopping down from the chair. Yuuji leads him down the hall to the bathroom. âHere, go ahead.â He pushes the door open and flicks on the light, leaning against the doorjamb. He half expects Sukuna to shut the door behind him, but he keeps the door open. Yuuji nods. Classic six-year-old stuff, right?
He lets his gaze wander to give Sukuna privacy. Bedtime, he thinks wryly. What does he need to do?
Bath, he thinks, then immediately rules it out. Yuuji doesnât have a shred of paternal instinct in his body, but his gut is telling him that forcing Sukuna into a bath is a battle he doesnât want to fight.
He thinks of the scar across the boyâs stomach and feels his bones harden. No bath, he decides grimly. Not tonight.
Fine. What else?
Kid needs to brush his teeth. Does Yuuji have an extra toothbrush? Maybe, but he definitely doesnât have any kid-toothpaste.
Sighing, Yuuji pushes off from the wall. âIâm going to look for another toothbrush,â he calls, then walks a few steps down the hall to the closet, out of Sukunaâs line of sight. He keeps talking so the kid doesnât get spooked. âYou donât have a toothbrush in your bag, right?âÂ
âNo.â Yuuji hears the toilet flush, just as he snags a new toothbrush from a haphazard pile of toiletries on the shelf. Back in the bathroom, he sees Sukuna standing at the sink, stubbornly trying to reach the faucet.
Step-stool, Yuuji thinks wearily. He adds it to the list. âCan I pick you up to wash your hands?â
Sukuna freezes. He glares at the floor.
Yuuji waits a tick, then goes and drags over a dining room chair, positioning it by the sink. âHere you go.â Sukuna scrambles up, washing his hands while Yuuji unwraps the toothbrush.
He passes Sukuna a hand towel. âI donât have any toothpaste for kids,â Yuuji says with an apologetic grimace. âIâll get some tomorrow, but for now, think you can use mine?â
Sukuna nods very seriously, holding the toothbrush steady while Yuuji squeezes out a dollop of toothpaste. He shudders when he tastes it, but soldiers on bravely, cleaning his teeth with a textbook precision that would make a dentist cry.
Yuuji looks on, almost impressed. âYouâre doing a great job brushing those teeth, kiddo. Better than I do it.â
Sukuna spits, then beams at him. âMy Dad taught me.â
Then his face shrivels up. Yuujiâs stomach drops. Oh, shit.
All four of Sukunaâs eyes squinch tightly shut, as if to hold back the tears already brimming at the corners. Two of Sukunaâs hands grip the edge of the sink, while the others clasp around the toothbrush. His breath comes in sharp, tiny gasps.Â
Instinct drives Yuuji to his knees, reaching out to take Sukuna in his arms. Sukuna flinches backward before he can get too close.
Fuck. Yuuji freezes, hovering, watching Sukuna fight a losing battle. The kid holds out for another moment before his lower pair of arms comes up to hug himself around the middle. Breath hitching ugly, sobs brewing in his throat. He drops the toothbrush, hands pressing against his face. Yuuji catches it before it hits the ground; lays it gently on the countertop.
The tears start to fall from behind tiny fingers and Yuuji nearly cries himself. Heâs exhausted, at the end of his rope, and he doesnât know what to fucking do because heâs not a fucking parent.
Self-hatred whips in his blood. Yuuji has one move, he thinks bitterly, give Sukuna a hug. It worked on him when he was a kid, Yuujiâs always been a tactile little fucker, clinging at physical touch like heâs worried heâll never get it again. Still like that, he thinks wryly.
If the roles were reversed, a hug wouldâve done the trick. But Sukuna isnât like Yuuji. He doesnât have a blueprint for this.
He looks at Sukuna. He doesnât sob loudly; his little chest heaves, but heâs swallowing his cries. The kidâs hands arenât big enough to cover his eyes, not the big, fucked up, angled ones on the right side of his face. One peeks out from between tiny fingers, and Yuuji can see how devastated it looks, how absolutely shattered Sukuna is at the loss of his father.
Anger surges. At Kenjaku, for doing this to Sukuna, doing this to him, and at himself forâfor not knowing what to do. How to comfort the child breaking down in front of him.
In the end, Yuuji stays where he is, centimeters from Sukuna, and talks to him. Murmurs nonsense, âIâm so sorry sweetheart; I know you loved your Dad so much; you must be feeling so terrible, Iâm sorry youâre feeling this way,â things like that. He has no idea if it works, but he keeps at it.
What does work, the one brilliant move Yuuji can offer, is putting his hands out in front of him, within Sukunaâs reach. Just holding them there.Â
âMy hands are here,â Yuuji says quietly. âIf you want them.â
Sukuna reaches out without hesitation, pulling his hands from around his torso and latching them onto Yuujiâs wrists. Soon, the other hands follow, gripping Yuujiâs fingers. Yuuji looks into the swollen, red-rimmed eyes and feels his chest kick.
âIâm so sorry, sweetheart,â Yuuji says softly.
Sukuna sniffles, a sob escapes. He looks wetly at Yuuji, looking for something.
No idea what heâs looking for. Yuuji clears his throat. âWhen I lost my grandpa,â he starts, but Sukuna interrupts him.
âWhat about your dad?â he demands. âIs he still here?â
Oh. Good point. âNo, kiddo, my Dad died a long time ago,â he tells Sukuna. âWhen I was younger than you are.â
The hands on his arms tighten. âHow?â
âAccident,â Yuuji shrugs.Â
âDo you remember him?â Sukuna asks, wide-eyed.
Yuuji furrows his brow. âNot really,â he admits. âI can remember a few things, but I was too little to remember anything big.â
âDo you miss him?â Sukunaâs eyes are dinner plates now.
Yuuji swallows. âYeah, I miss him,â he says, voice soft and sad.
âMy mom died when I was really little,â Sukuna offers earnestly. The tears have stopped altogether. âI miss her, but I canât remember.â
Yuuji gives a half smile. Smart kid. âMy mom died, too. Same accident as my dad.â
Sukuna gasps. âSo you have no parents, too?â
Knife to the gut. Yuuji smiles grimly. âYeah, kiddo. I have no parents, either.â
Sukuna stares at Yuuji a moment longer. Something in his eyes settles, and he takes a deep, shaky breath.
Yuuji takes that as a cue. âCâmon, kiddo. Letâs get you some water.â
Sukuna gets down from the chair, two hands still holding onto Yuuji. Together, they troop back into the kitchen. Yuuji refills Sukunaâs glass, and he drinks obediently, wiping his mouth and handing the cup back.
Yuuji sets it on the counter, the sound ringing softly through the room. âOkay. Bedtime.â
Bedtime.Â
Two things hit Yuuji like a truck. Oneâpajamas.
TwoâBedroom. Bed.
He swallows thickly. Sukuna skips ahead of him, then stops, looking back.Â
Yuuji tries to smile; it feels pasted onto his face. âWhat should we do about PJâs?â
Sukuna just stares at him. Of course he doesnât know.
âYou canât wear those clothes,â Yuuji continues, âI need to wash them for tomorrow.â
Sukuna grabs at the shirt protectively. âI know,â Yuuji apologizes. âBut that oneâs dirty. Iâll get more of your shirts as soon as I can.â
Iâll get. Yuuji will make a trip to the apartment. Sukuna seems to understand this immediately and begins to open his mouth, but Yuuji hurries past it. He canât deal withâwith whatever Sukunaâs about to say, not right now.
âWeâve got a visitor tomorrow,â he explains quickly. âThe social workerâs coming over. Need a clean shirt for that, Iâll wash it while youâre asleep.â
Sukuna scrunches up his nose, like heâs going to protest. Yuuji tries to think. What can he do to pacify him?
âWant to see the washer?â he asks hastily. âWhere itâll go? And then the dryer?â
Sukuna hesitates, then nods begrudgingly. Yuuji leads him back down the hallway, past the bathroom, to the stacked washer dryer at the end of the hall. He points out each one, then looks down at Sukuna, eyebrows raised.
Sukuna pushes out his lip, face tilted up distrustfully.Â
Shit. Yuuji wracks his brain. âWanna see inside?â
Sukuna nods. Yuujiâs about to go grab the dining room chair, but Sukuna holds out his arms, all four lifted toward Yuuji.
Oh.
Yuuji reaches down and hoists him onto his hip. Those four arms settle around him, stretching across and behind Yuujiâs torso to reach his shoulder. It is so odd Yuuji has to fight back a shiver.
âHere.â Yuuji opens the lid of the washer, then the dryer stacked on top. Sukuna peers inside dubiously. âWhat do you think?â
Sukuna considers for a moment, then nods. âOkay.â
Exhaling with relief, Yuuji sets him back on the floor.Â
âCan I see it go in?â Sukuna asks.
Yuuji shrugs. âAnd why not?â Again, Sukuna lifts his arms up, and Yuuji crouches and tugs the shirt over his head.
Then he freezes solid, body locking up. He can see the scar.
There it is, drawn wide across Sukunaâs bare stomach, gnarled and ugly. No place being there, no place on a six-year-oldâs skin, not something that brutal.
Yuujiâs reaction is swift. Rage lifts in his throat, snatches the breath right from his lungs. Suddenly, Yuujiâs panting, because heâs starving, this is the kind of anger that wants and begs, and itâs gotten him in trouble before, and donât be so reckless, Yuuji!
He halts; catches himself before the edge. He closes his eyes and folds that rage onto itself over and over again, smaller and smaller until he can kick it away; shove it into a corner of his mind where it wonât scream so loud.
Yuuji brings himself back under control in two seconds. Sukuna doesnât notice at all, a point in Yuujiâs favor.
He forces himself not to look at the scar. âLetâs do those pants too, while weâre at it.â He holds the grubby shirt in his hands while Sukuna wrestles the pants off.
Yuuji saves the underwear for later. Thatâs easy, that he can just run to the store and pick up so Sukuna doesnât have to go without.
âOkay, here we go.â Yuuji grabs the detergent from the shelf and measures out a thimble full. Small load, he reasons, dumping it in. He goes to toss in the shirt, but Sukuna stops him.
âCanâcan I do it?â
Yuuji looks down at him. Sukunaâs jaw is set, face determined.
ââCourse you can.â Yuuji hands him the shirt, reaching down to scoop him up. Sukuna skitters away, holding the shirt up as high as he can reach.
Yuuji pauses, then holds the lid of the washer open so Sukuna can gently throw it inside. He turns to Yuuji, holding out two hands, and Yuuji gives him the pants. He dumps them in the wash.
âOkay, kiddo, Iâm gonna turn it on.â Yuuji turns the dial to âlight colors' and presses start. Sukuna waits until he can hear the machine hum before he blinks and looks up at Yuuji.
Yuuji stares down at him. Scarred kid standing in his underwear. Hair unkempt, too many arms, too many eyes. Too many eyes that are trained on Yuuji expectantly. Waiting for him to point the way.
It all rolls over him like a wave, and he has to work to stay upright. This is his, now. This, all of it, this is his.
He clears his throat. âLetâs find you something to wear.â
It hits him again. PJs. Bed. For a moment, Yuujiâs swaying on his feet.
Shakily, he walks into the bedroom, going for his dresser. âI, uh, I think one of my shirts will fit bothââ
He cuts himself off. Both arms.
Sukuna nods like nothing happened, like Yuuji didnât stutter at all. He takes the shirt Yuuji offers and slips it over his head. Yuuji was right, the sleeves have enough room for both of Sukunaâs extra arms.
The hem drops to his ankles. âIt fits!â Sukuna says triumphantly.
Yuuji sucks his teeth. Not really, but itâll do.
âIt fits,â he allows, giving a small smile. Sukuna beams.
Yuuji takes a deep breath. Now the hard part. âWe gottaââ he coughs awkwardly. âWe gotta figure out where youâre going to sleep, kiddo.â
Sukuna shrinks into himself. Yuujiâs unsteady in his own skin. God, this sucks.
âWhereââ he catches himself before he blurts it out: where did you sleep back at home?
Not helpful, Yuuji. Donât do that, donât lead Sukuna down that road. Kidâs practically trembling as it is.
âŠit would be helpful to know, Yuuji thinks ruefully. To know what Sukuna expects, to have an idea of what Yuujiâs working with. Where did Sukuna sleep? Did he have his own room? Did he have a bed? A futon? Nothing, did he sleep on the floor?
A thought strikes like a hot iron: did he sleep in Kenjakuâs bed?
Yuuji nearly bites clean through his tongue. Rage runs high again, rage mixed with hatred, with disgust. The kind of rage that makes him want to do something, the kind of rage that brings consequences.
He swallows it down. Focuses on the problem in front of him.
Where can Sukuna sleep for the night?
Yuuji breathes carefully through his nose, training his eyes above Sukunaâs head. Okay.
He decides to run through the options. âThereâs myâthereâs this big bedroom,â Yuuji corrects himself. âWith the big futon, right there. I also have the couch, and a smaller futon.â He falls silent. Thatâs it, really.Â
Unless he counts the second bedroom. Heâs really hoping Sukuna doesnât ask about the nursery.
Sukuna is six, so he doesnât. âWhere are you gonna sleep?â
Yuuji looks down to see Sukuna staring at him with wide, determined eyes. He exhales heavily. âIâll sleep on the small futon. Or the couch.â Not the bed. Yuuji hasnât slept in that bed in over a year.
âAnd I can sleep wherever I want?â Sukuna asks persistently.Â
Yuuji nods. âPretty much.â Heâd much rather Sukuna make the decision.Â
He looks down at the kid, eyebrows raised. Sukuna pushes his lip out. âThe futon goes anywhere?â
Yuuji nods again, unsure where Sukuna is going with this.Â
Sukuna stays silent. Yuuji waits him out.
Finally: âcan I sleep there?â Sukuna points at the big futon.
Relief hits him like a hammer. âOf course.â
Problem solved. Yuujiâs chest unlocks. Then it tightens, pulses. Is it a bad sign? That Sukuna wants to sleep in Yuujiâs bed? Does that mean that Kenjakuâ
Despair takes him. He pushes it backâthereâs nowhere for it to go. Nothing he can do with it, not tonight.
Yuuji will do something about it tomorrow, he thinks wearily. Heâllâheâll talk to the school.
He pauses. Yeah. Thatâsâactually, thatâs a great idea. Surely they would have noticedâwould have seen something. Thatâs part of their job, right? He can talk to the school. See what they can tell him about Sukunaâs life beforeâbefore this very moment.
Wow. Yuujiâs outdone himself. It almost makes him smile.Â
Then Sukuna moves, walking toward the futon. Panic grips Yuuji. Whereâwhich side is Sukuna going to pick?Â
Yuuji always slept on the near side. Claimed it for himself; he wanted to be between the door andâand the far side.
He grimaces, trying to shove the thought from his mind. Thereâs a reason Yuuji doesnât sleep here anymore.
In the end, Sukuna scampers into the middle of the futon. Hands shaking, Yuuji pulls the covers back so he can slip inside. Of his own accord, Sukuna grabs the pillow from the near sideâYuujiâs pillowâand tugs it into the center for himself.
Sukuna lays down, and looks up at Yuuji. Yuuji nearly chokes.
Itâsâitâs awful, no matter how he slices it. Pure awful, sends despair shooting right through him, becauseâ
Yuujiâs body locks up. Because he wanted this so badly.Â
He wantedâ
His heart beats, thumps, jumps. He grits his teeth. Yuuji wanted this so desperately he could have clawed his skin off.
He wantedâhe wanted a little boy who looked like him, and Sukuna almost looks like him. A boy, and they said they wouldnât care, that they would be happy either way, but Yuuji knew he wanted a boy with that stupid, pastel-pink hair, and there Sukuna is. Little boy with his hair laying in his bed, except itâs not Yuujiâs bed, itâs their bed. Futon big enough for two. Sukuna will sleep in it by himself; Yuuji doesnât sleep there anymore, but he used to share it with someone whoâ
Who wanted to be there. Someone who wanted this. With him. Until she didnât.
Didnât. Doesnât.
Yuujiâs stomach heaves. Doesnât. Not anymore, but she did. And she fuckingâinfected Yuuji with this, this dream-kid, she sold him the idea on a string and he swallowed it until his gut grew taut and bloated. She let Yuuji get so excited, let him grind the idea of fatherhood into his bones, let him fucking believe that he could do it, that he would be good at it, that she wanted it tooâ
He inhales; coughs against the bile rising in his throat. His hands clench into fists, and he turns his face away from Sukuna so he doesnât see.
She sold Yuuji a dream, made him want it for himself, and then she woke up and decided that she didnât. Didnât want it, not anymore. Not with him, because Yuuji couldnât hack itâcanât hack it. Because he doesnât have it in him to be a father.
His shoulders hunch. She said it over a year ago, but it still makes him recoil. Yuujiâs no father. Yuuji canât, Yuuji shouldnâtâ
Yuuji has no other choice. The child is hereâSukuna is here, and Yuuji has to do it alone. And he doesnât think he can.
ThisâSukuna is so close to what he wanted that it goes down like a bitter joke. Yuuji wants to vomit.
âWait!â A little kid voice pulls him from his stupor. He refocuses; Sukunaâs pushing off the blanket and jumping out of bed, running back into the living room. Before Yuuji can blink, Sukuna returns with his backpack. He looks at Yuuji distrustfully before turning around and taking something out of the bag, holding it against his chest and hiding it beneath three arms.
He scrambles back onto the futon, resettling under the covers. A lump falls hard in Yuujiâs throat. âOkay, kiddo,â he says hoarsely. âSleep tight. See you tomorrow.â
He expects Sukuna to lay down and prays heâll close his eyes, that this wonât be another war zone Yuuji didnât sign up for. Instead, Sukuna stills, looking fiercely at Yuuji.
He stares back awkwardly. Whatâwhat does Sukuna want him to do?
They stay like that. For several minutes. Sukuna glares at him, almost imploringly. Yuuji stares back dumbly. What does the kid want?
Another three minutes go by. Finally, Sukuna winces. âYou saidâyou can put the futon in here,â Sukuna mumbles.
Yuuji nods slowly. He can. But Sukunaâs alreadyâ
Oh. Sukuna wants Yuuji to sleep in here. On the futon.
Sukuna twitches. Convulses, really, whole body jerking like Yuuji hooked him up to an electrical battery. His knees fly to his chest, his arms wrap around his shins, and he buries his head in whatever he pulled from his bag until Yuuji can only see his top two eyes.
Tears brim, mournful and desperate.
Yuuji walks it back immediately. âOkay, okay, kiddo, Iâll sleep in here.â
Sukuna jolts again, face brushing against his kneecaps, but he doesnât unwrap himself. And he doesnât stop crying.
Fuck.
Yuuji decides the best thing to do is set up the futon. Exhausted, he gets it from the living room and begins to roll out the tatami mat. That was on him, he realizes, laying it down flat. It was stupid to think that Sukuna would want to sleep here alone, that he would be comfortable in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar room, after his fatherâdied.
Yuuji grimaces, unfolding the mattress. Still, heâd give an arm if it meant staying out of this room for the night. Yuuji doesnât want to share the room with a ghost.
He grits his teeth. No other choice.Â
Spare futon in place, he stands up. Sukunaâs peeking out from behind his knees, calmer now that Yuujiâs sleeping right beside him.
Yuuji clears his throat. âSee? Iâll be right here.â
Taking a deep breath, Sukuna nods, laying his legs out flat. Yuuji exhales gratefully. Hopefully that will be the last minefield of the night.
It isnât. âGoodnight, kiddo,â Yuuji offers, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. Now that Sukunaâs settled, he needs to get out of here. He still has to call Higuruma, and itâs late enough as it is.
Plusâhe hates this room. Heâll come back here to sleep, but he wonât be here any longer than he has to.
Sukuna looks at him blankly. âIâll see you in the morning,â Yuuji prompts.
Sukuna doesnât move, but his face pinches in the center.
Christ, what is it now?
Yuuji canât guess anymore. Heâs too tired to try and figure it out on his own, too tired to read Sukunaâs signals that donât make any fucking sense, too tired toâ
âSukuna,â Yuuji says quietly. âSukuna, sweetheart, I donât know what you want. Can you tell me, please?â
Two of Sukunaâs arms come up to hug himself around the chest. He says nothing, just turns those big eyes on Yuuji, willing him to understand.
Yuuji doesnât understand. âIâll do it,â he promises wildly, âwhatever it is, Iâll do it, I justâyou gotta help me out here, bud. You gotta give me a hint.â
Sukunaâs shoulders fold inward. He pulls his eyes from Yuuji to flit them around the room. He looks at the corners, then the door, then Yuuji, then back to the corners. Then back to Yuuji, face wide with abject fear. He hesitates, then leaps out of bed, skidding across the floor until heâs right by Yuuji.
Sukunaâs close enough to touch him, and this time he does, placing a shaking hand on his leg and gripping the fabric of his jeans.
He tilts his face up at Yuuji. Thereâs that fear again, and Sukuna gently tugs him toward the futon.
Oh. Sukuna wants Yuuji to go to sleep now.
He still needs to call Higuruma. âIââ
Yuuji cuts himself off. He already told Sukuna he would.
âOkay,â Yuuji surrenders. Sukunaâs face relaxes. âJustâjust let me get ready, too.âÂ
Sukuna follows him around as he brushes his teeth and changes into a sleep shirt and old gym shorts, before leading Yuuji back into the bedroom. He goes easy into the wide futon, watching carefully as Yuuji flips off the light switch and settles into his own.
In the dark, Yuuji can just make out the line of Sukunaâs body beneath the duvet. If he squints, he can see the extra arms: two slipped under the pillow, two clutching what must be the plushie.Â
Four eyes blink at him. âNight, kiddo,â Yuuji says softly. âIâll be here in the morning.â
Sukuna closes his eyes instantly. Yuuji counts his inhales and thinks of nothing until Sukunaâs breathing drops off, little chest rising and falling steadily.Â
His eyes are on the ceiling. His joints are stiff. Mechanically, he gets off the futon, crosses the room silently, and slips through the door.
In the living room, Yuuji exhales, then drops into a squat. He pushes his head into his knees, holds his arms protectively over his head, and stays like that until he counts to a hundred. A hundred and fifty. Two hundred.
Then he stands up. Yuuji picks up his phone and calls Higuruma.
ËâÛ¶à§Ëâ OLD HABITS DIE HARD! âïž
äŒé»æ â fluff/crack, clingy!megumi, childhood bsfs to lovers
âMegs, itâs time to go.â
âJust a bit longer..â
Gojo sighed, watching a tiny Megumi cling onto your arm like a koala. Why was he being so stubborn right now? He had always been difficult, but not this difficult.
He had never seen him so fond of another human being before. Megumi stared at strangers like they slaughtered his entire family right before his eyes, so seeing him sticking to you like glue was a rare sight.
Gojoâs one and only dream was for Megumi to interact with other human beings, especially considering how closed off he was for his young age.
He never expected someone like him being so attached to someone like you.
You were a sweet kid. You lost count of the amount of times Gojo retold the story of how you cried after Megumi âaccidentallyâ stepped on a baby worm, squishing itâs wriggly body and reducing it to a tiny pile of itâs guts and flesh.
He says âaccidentallyâ because Megumi actually did it on purpose, but you only lived to see the part where he was already stepping on the poor worm, not the part where he brutally stepped it to death.
He felt so bad that he sat by you for four hours, waiting until you calmed down. It proved to be a challenge because he only got you to stop was by hugging you, and the moment he let go youâd start crying all over again.
itâs not like he minded though. He enjoyed being in your presence, even if his oversized t-shirt was drenched in your tears right after.
He found himself naturally gravitating towards you, like the sun orbiting the earth. Wherever you were, heâd be standing in your shadow, breathing down your neck. It started to get awkward when people would flicker their gaze back and forth between you and him during conversations, cause heâd always stand impossibly close behind with a nasty glare.
Wherever you went, so did he. Heâd sit next to you at recess, walk by your side on the pavement after school, Gojo even found him talking to you from the other side of the door while you used the bathroom.
That little habit followed him into his teenage years. You were both older now, he was colder and more serious than before, but his fondness for you stayed the same, even more if possible.
How could he not? You were the sun to his moon. No one would look at you and think you killed for a living. It didnât help that inumaki would pop in every so often to ask you to make him treats. It was basically a routine for you to walk up and down jujutsu highâs halls, back and forth between classes holding a tiny pink bag, some sort of sugary treat usually sitting inside a box tied with a bow in it.
Yuji and Nobara started tallying the amount of times heâd huff, groan or sigh whenever he was assigned a mission with someone else other than you. Heâd beat their asses if he ever found out, but everyone started keeping track of how many hours heâd spend around you.
Refilling your bottle during training? He would be there with his own bottle. Lunch? Heâd sit beside you, eating the homemade meal you had prepped for him in the morning. Any other fucking time of the day? You would be hiding in the break room, his head peering over your shoulder to look at whatever you were doing on your phone.
Their calculations came to.. a daily average of 16 hours. On cold stormy days, heâd sleep in your room because you were âscaredâ of the thunder. Now that would come to around 23 hours, the one hour being times where youâd be forcefully separated.
Maybe the reason he was so attached because you were the first person to show him genuine care and affection. Sure, Gojo would coddle him until the ends of the earth, but Megumi always believed that care came from obligation. He was his father figure, of course he had to care about him.
You were different. You saw him and decided he was the one youâd take care of for the rest of your life.
He came back late from a mission one night, and you grabbed him by the wrist, dragging him back to your room to patch him up.
He was reluctant to let you do so. He didnât want to be a burden to you, especially since it was late at night, and you shouldâve been long asleep by then. He felt bad for making you wait up for him, but the moment you pouted at him he fully gave up.
You pressed the cotton ball to one of his cuts, stinging sensation running up his entire arm from the sudden change of temperature. âWhy are you always so reckless, canât you be more careful?â
You looked up at him, awaiting his answer, only to find him gazing at you with half-lidded eyes. He studied your worried expression and felt his heart go all fuzzy.
You furrowed your brows at him. âAre you gonna sit there and stare at me all night, or do I have to drag you back to your dorm myself?â
âCan I stay for the night?â He asked, voice quieter now. âI need to be near you for a while longer..â
Your gaze softened, wrapping your arms around the boyâs neck. Still sitting on your bed, he pulled you closer by curling his arms tight around your waist.
âOkay.â
Post-shibuya, when the culling games came around, he still didnât want to split up with you. You were fully capable of handling yourself, but maybe thatâs why he didnât want you to go off on your own.
He fought against splitting up from you and yuji. His excuse was that they would need you if Sukuna ever striked again. You suggested that Yuta stay with them, you being far more willing to fight without holding back in battles.
He didnât listen. He never did when it came to you. Heâd much rather you stay back and recruit more allies with him than run around fighting high-ranked sorcerers for points. You wouldâve been their best bet at getting enough points for his sister, if it wasnât for him.
He knew he was holding you back, but at least it would keep you safe. Thatâs all he ever wanted to do. Keep you safe.
Now, if only he was born somewhere far from here. Away from the jujutsu world. Away from curses. That reality would never happen. Megumi Fushiguro had never been destined to win in the first place. He was a major loser, and fate never did listen to him. Not even once.
Even when he was most desperate.
Now he sat alone in the clinic. The room of smelled of antiseptic and protective gloves, room white and too quiet for his liking.
He never wanted to throw up more in his life.
He sat by your body with his fists clenched tight in his lap, you unmoving and laid out on the table, bag pulled too high. You never stayed still in your sleep. Youâd toss and turn and kick his back as you wrapped your arms around his waist, mumbling something incoherent.
Heâd never get that ever again. The scars carved onto both sides of his face were a constant reminder of how you would just be a memory from then on.
A damn good one.
Shoko opened the door slightly, only peeking in from the crack of the door. She had done this a million times before, but this time, when she saw him she froze.
She stared at his back for a second, and suddenly she was a teen again, watching Gojo hunched over his desk, hiding whatever snacks he could sneak into class that day.
âFushiguro?â He pressed his lips into a thin line, knowing by the tone of her voice, he knew what she was going to say before she could open her mouth.
You were about to be cremated, trapped soul about to be set free through the flames.
You used to tell him that you werenât afraid of anything, but he say the way youâd flinch whenever anything hot would get too near. Heâd usually chuckle under his breath, telling you that everything would be alright.
âIeiri-San, I.. I need more time.â His voice cracked. The stone cold Megumi Fushiguro was faltering, all because the love of his life now
âPlease. Let me stay with her. Just⊠a little longer.â
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